


A Tree of Tangled Light

by meta_lark



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Chloe Decker, BAMF Lucifer, BAMF Mazikeen (Lucifer TV), Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Dan is actually pretty okay too, Deckerstar - Freeform, Domestic Fluff, Everyone Finds Out, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Harpies, Hell might be a bit like Westeros, Hellhounds, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Mythological Symbolism, Post-Season/Series 04, Post-Season/Series 04 AU, Pregnancy, Religious Cults, The Tree is also Important, Wings, and there's a plot-baby, but it's not the whole plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 135,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24101488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meta_lark/pseuds/meta_lark
Summary: Lucifer's gone and Chloe isn't handling it as well as she lets on.Then all Hell breaks loose when Charlie is kidnapped - except it's exactly the opposite - and Amenadiel's forced to accept help from the most unlikely place: a wildcard with a penchant for secrets, Lilithmightjust come in handy, considering Chloe is also hiding a secret of her own... The path to Deckerstar never did run smooth, but when a series of murders link humans & celestials in a misunderstanding about the End of Day, Lucifer finds himself braced between two worlds where the means of saving both rest at hand - if he can overcome his own personal Hell.Plus we've got Micheal being a dick, the Angel of Death stuck babysitting, Ella solving the world's problems one delectable Passion Flakie at a time, Trixie wrangling hellhounds, Maze smashing things, and all Daneverwanted was a nice, quiet weekend where nothing worse happened than burnt toast...Not S5 compliant; in-progress.
Relationships: Amenadiel & Linda Martin (Lucifer TV), Azrael & Ella Lopez, Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Dan Espinoza & Mazikeen, Trixie Espinoza & Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 275
Kudos: 340





	1. Between Hell and a Hard Place

**Author's Note:**

> ─────⋅☽ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

Light dappled through the branches as they swayed, painting the ground with mottled shadows. It would have been beautiful, Chloe thought, except for the body pinned to the trunk of the tree. “What have you got for me, Ella?”

The usually cheerful forensic scientist snapped to attention, summarizing the grim scene with professional ease. “Unknown female in her early-to-mid twenties; cause of death at this point is inconclusive, we’ll have a better idea of things once the tox results come back. There are track marks on her arm, so our victim was a user, but this doesn’t look like an overdose – there are signs of a struggle, some defensive bruising, so she fought back; well done,” she murmured with quiet appreciation to the corpse. “Body was redressed, and moved here after she died.”

“And the…” the Detective pointed with her pen, swallowing reflexively at the bile rising in her stomach.

She didn’t have to finish her sentence. “The crucifixion? Postmortem, thank God. I mean, it’s _terrible –_ horrendous! Like, how could you even do that somebody?! You’ve got to drive that nail through flesh and bone and sinew–” she motioned, repeatedly, oblivious to her co-worker’s paling face. “But at least she was dead at the time.”

“Sick bastards, that’s who,” Dan came to stand between them, eyeing the scene critically.

The body hung swathed in a rustling white muslin robe, bound at the ankles and fixed to the branches with coarse iron wedges. Loose hair covered her face as her chin rested against her chest, a wreath of fading flowers dying in her hair. He took a breath. “The dog walker who found the body is over there when you wanted to talk to him,” he nudged Chloe. “But seeing how it’s a public trail and there’s no cameras anywhere near here, we have no real leads at this moment.”

“Somebody wanted it to be found,” she mused. “You don’t make a statement like this without expecting somebody to see it. So that means the killer – or killers, because we don’t see drag or wheel marks, and getting a body all the way here and then… affixing it to the tree... that’s a two-person job. They’re out there, waiting for a reaction to that statement.”

“A really messed up statement,” Ella shuddered.

“More than just crucifying some poor girl to tree?”

“Yeah, well see – that’s a willow tree. They’re not native, and not super common here, so someone went looking for that tree in particular. And since the whole scene already has this bad-bible-juju thing going on, the willow in context is symbolic of _repentance._ I mean, some people have a totally unhealthy relationship with their faith...”

“That’s… actually really insightful,” Chloe agreed.

“I betcha Lucifer would have been all over this one,” she wistfully rambled. “He was really committed to that whole devil schtick, but, credit where credit is due and he knew his stuff. Did you know the one time I got him to go to church, not only did he know– oh, Chloe, I mean–”

Whatever expression had crossed the Detective’s face was replaced with that mask of professionalism she so comfortably wore. “It’s fine, Ella, we’re allowed to talk about him. In fact, I _want_ you to talk about him. He’s not… dead or something. Just… away.”

Dan and Ella exchanged glances. “Still no word?” he frowned.

“I told you, he doesn’t really have access like that where he is. At least not in a way it would be safe.” She pulled off her rubber gloves and stuffed them into the back of her pants, returning the pen to her breast pocket. Several officers had gathered in this time, and she nodded to them. “Forensics is done here, you can take the body down.” Then she turned, pushing the swaying veil of branches aside as she picked her way back up the trail.

“Chloe – wait,” Ella bounded up beside her.

“I said it’s fine. I know I’ve been a little out of it lately, but that doesn’t mean–”

“Hold up,” the small latino woman planted a hand on her chest, suddenly becoming an immovable force in the middle of the path. Chloe raised a brow, but the eyes that fixed on her were unrelenting. “You don’t really think I’m buying into that ‘everything’s fine’ routine again, do you? It’s been what? two months? and he–”

“Six weeks, 5 days, give or take nine hours…”

“Chloe,” she braced her. “You know what? It’s okay to be not okay. ‘Cause it’s totally uncool that he left like that and you’re allowed to be mad at him. Heck, _I’m_ kinda peeved at him! But he’s your partner, and he’s coming back. I’m not buying anything else he says. And believe you me, he’s going to have to answer to _me_ when he gets his dapper ass back here…”

There had been days in the past six weeks when her response would have been different.

The early days after his leaving had been like a dream, fragmented memories and feelings, fleeting and incorporeal when she tried to examine closer. That was probably a good a thing. After the initial shock had worn off, her training had kicked in and cop brain took over. The first days after had been spent sussing out everything she could about the situation. She’d stormed to Linda and Amenadiel like a tempest, unleashed and filled with a terrible and singular purpose – that Lucifer be returned from Hell, and anyone who was not actively helping became part of the problem.

Amenadiel had been obliging in the beginning. He’d flown to the realm as soon as he learned the news; his return was only a few minutes later, although Chloe understood time moved differently in Hell; he’d explained that Lucifer intended to stay, fulfilling his role as King and keeping the demons in line, and seemed very set on the matter.

In fact, it seemed that Amenadiel was even inclined to agree, because the options presented were limited and it did seem the most viable one. It wasn’t something he was happy about, to be sure, but his willingness to concede grated her patience. She insisted he go again, because she refused to believe in a solution so absolute, and finally, after much prodding, he did.

When he returned the second time, his face was grave. Lucifer would not be returning, he said, and furthermore, _he_ was no longer welcomed within the region. He would not return again.

Chloe roused every ounce of authority, and even the Angel of God seemed to shudder under her scrutiny, but he would not bend his will. “It’s of no use, Chloe,” he’d told her gently, and Linda had chosen that moment to agree. Lucifer was stubborn, and once his mind was fixed, there was little in Heaven or Earth that could be done to change it. As for her going to Hell? That was out of the question – mortal flesh could not pass the threshold of the realms, the Angel explained. They did their best to be kind, but the truth stung, sharp and deep. They offered her whatever other support they could, and she thanked them, profusely, and let them be.

That was five weeks and three days ago.

Linda had called a few times after that and they’d talked on the phone, but Chloe was far too practiced to allow the fractures to show through, and Linda far too good a friend to push her authority on her. Linda was good to her; it made her hate the way she felt when they talked even more; she could hear Charlie burbling in the background, the low timber of Amendiel’s voice as he conversed with his son; the family _they_ still had, together and secure.

Because Lucifer’s sacrifice wasn’t just about her – it was so much bigger, and she would never fault him for that. But oh, did it sting to face that those same gains his sacrifice had won was what they had lost, forever.

After that, she began researching everything she could about Hell, combing through every religion and world myth she could glean insight from. From tangled trees who held the chaos in place to spirit animals who swallowed the universe, she read tale after tale of harrowed falls and vanquished gods, of redemption and triumphant returns from the realms below. Her living room table resembled a wizard’s desk from the _Harry Potter_ movies Trixie had taken a shine to recently, and it tugged her heart that her daughter should see her like this, sometimes waking at the table only when the sun brimmed the horizon and shed the night.

Dan had begun to worry at that point and so she’d cleaned up the worst of the books and relegated them to her bedroom. She cleaned her house and soon, from the outside looking in, everything was in place and cared for.

That was two weeks, two days ago.

Then Maze had shown up and surprisingly been her solace. Or at least she’d tried. In her own way, the demon offered support. There was camaraderie in being mad at the same person together, followed by something resembling a Ladies’ Night which she had very little memory of except for its abrupt end bowing at the porcelain alter. After that Maze seemed to find purpose in seeing that she wasn’t wallowing in her woes (though after that night, Chloe couldn’t look at bottle without her stomach rolling reflexively) and Trixie was simply delighted to have her best friend around more often that Chloe found reassurance in her daughter’s happiness.

Trixie had taken Lucifer’s absence with the silent resolve of a child far too wise for her years. It probably wasn’t a good thing, the kind of thing that would prove to be very expensive in counseling later on. But for now, with all things considered, she chose not to dwell on it.

The last week had been almost normal, until she remembered it wasn’t. That Lucifer wouldn’t be striding into the precinct with a steaming cup of her favourite coffee, just the way she liked it. That the texts she sent to his phone at night would go undelivered and unanswered. She felt tired, old, as if the air was thick and and the peopled moved around her like she was a point fixed beyond their orbit, forgotten and unchanging as time continued to ebb and flow around her–

“Chloe?”

She blinked, realizing Ella was still there, and everyone else had to part in the path to go around them. “Crap, I just spaced again, didn’t I?”

“Not even in the same solar system,” Ella affirmed.

She nodded, shoring up what remained of resolve. “I really am okay. But some days… maybe... I’m less okay than others.”

“You’re wearing your shirt backwards.”

“I was in a rush.”

“And you were whimpering into your coffee cup yesterday.”

“It… was really bad coffee!”

Ella cocked her head to the side, sizing her up. “This is going to take more than a hug.”

“No,” she objected. “Maze already did the night-out thing and I’m still recovering from the vodka. What I just need is… time, really. And people to stop walking on eggshells around me. That’s all.”

They resumed their way up the path. “I get it,” Ella agreed. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that either. But you’re my friend – more! You’re like the sister I never had! I mean, my brothers are awesome and all but sometimes… they really make you glad you weren’t born a boy too…” she felt the eyes on her and pushed through. “What I’m saying is, you’re like my family, and family takes care of each other. So I’m not going to stop worrying about you.”

The smile that escaped was small but genuine, and she could feel the prickling in the corner of her eyes. The hug followed naturally after that. “Thank you, Ella.”

“The hug helps a bit too, don’t it,” she grinned. “No offense to Maze, because I love her like a girlfriend, but she’s not exactly emotionally available – in a _soft_ way. And you need more hugs.”

“No, she’s really not,” Chloe agreed.

She released her with a sigh. “You should talk to him.”

“Look, there’s really no way to get a message–”

“I meant the dog walker,” Ella pointed behind her to the man sitting obediently with three large dogs, also sitting obediently.

“Oh. I guess I should.”

“That still seems whacked, though; yeah, his family’s bonkers – which we knew – but not talking a call from you? That’s on a whole ‘nother level.”

“It’s his job. His job won’t… well, he can’t risk it.”

“You’ve been really vague about this ‘job’ of his. What are you holding out on me, Decker?”

“I can’t tell you,” she deadpanned.

“Right. Because he’s… _deep undercover_ for a his next roll?” she quirked out of the side of her mouth “Immersing himself in the part–”

“He is really not a method actor,” she huffed under her breath, rubbing the bridge between her brows. “And no offense, but I don’t think you could handle it, and right now I don’t have the time to deal with an existential crisis on top–”

“What, is he a spy or something?”

She leveled her another withering look.

Ella blinked. _“No way….”_

“No, that’s not what I–”

“He is! He totally is, isn’t he? Oh, my God, _it all fits!!_ All his contacts, and his skill set, and having knowledge about nearly everything even before we do… Even the whole devil schtick – who would have suspected a front like that?” she whisper-shrieked, bouncing up and down in place. “What is he, like – Interpol? You gotta tell me! _OH!_ He’s MI6, isn’t he!” and she clasped her hands over her mouth as if she’d just divulged an enormous secret.

For a response Chloe buried her face in her hands. Dan chose that moment to catch up, an inquisitive look towards each of their reactions. “What’d I miss?”

 _“Lucifer’s a spy!”_ Ella hissed under her breath. “Like, a real-live James Bond _spy!”_

“I’ll be interviewing the witness,” Chloe excused herself.

Dan raised the other brow, his gaze passing from one to the other. Then he shook his head. “You know, that actually makes a lot of sense...”

⋅☽ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

Chloe was seated at her computer when Ella landed beside her, perching like a bird and watching with laser-focused intensity. She waited a whole minute and a half before she dove in. “I have questions.”

“I’m sure you do; unfortunately, I do not have answers to those questions.”

“See, and I know that…!”

“I don’t think you really do.”

“Oh, you’re _killing_ me,” she slumped with a sigh. “I know you can’t; _secret agencies and all that,”_ her eyes darted around the precinct conspirtively. “But, you got to give me _something._ Anything! And then I’ll never ask about it again.”

She turned partially so she could observe the young lab tech from the corner of her eye. “You won’t.”

“I _know…”_

She returned her gaze forward and clicked to the next screen. She scanned the page, her eyes falling to the picture on file and she stopped, frowning. “This can’t be a coincidence.”

Ella was instantly over her shoulder, the photos from the old crime scene vividly on screen. The body lay draped in a white dress like a shroud, sprawling where she was dumped in the knee-high grass. The wreath of flowers on her head had broken, the blossoms scattering in blots of yellow and red. “That… looks disturbingly familiar.”

Chloe was already pulling up the file number. “We worked this one… a year and a half ago? The victim was Meila Donoghue, 17, her father confessed to the killing with a lethal dose of Succinylcholine, which he claimed to have purchased online. The motive - he believed she had turned away from their faith; the whole family were religious zealots. It was open and shut, but it never sat tight with me; it just felt like there was… more.”

“Like an accomplice?”

“Yeah. Maybe. Something like that.” She reached over and Ella passed the folder. The photos from yesterday’s scene spilled out across her desk. There were some differences in methodologies, but the resemblance between the dress and flowers were unsettling. “I’m going to need that tox report as soon have it.”

“You got it,” she was already bounding away.

Chloe was left alone with the pictures, aligning them on her desk as she reviewed the scene. There was little doubt in her mind the two were related, but she needed evidence before pressing further. She pulled up the details on the Donoghue case, scanning down the list of witnesses. The whole family had been questioned, as well as their minister. Lucifer had had a field day with him and she’d been left to run damage control; not that she thought her partner’s questions were necessarily out of line, but she couldn’t tell _him_ that; there were procedures to be followed, after all.

She’d never been very religious herself, and at that point, was still in the dark about certain celestial revelations. But in regards to the pastor she felt only disgust; how could anyone view themselves a spiritual leader, yet condemned those who dared question that faith - to the point a family would decide to murder their own child because of it. He _should_ have been guilty, even if he hadn’t pulled the proverbial trigger.

And even if the law couldn’t condemn him for those acts, she knew now where that misguided faith would land him. Because Lucifer was the Devil and now he was in Hell, ruling over demons and the souls of the damned. Because that was his job. Because he had to.

Because of her.

The wave hit her in the chest, squeezing under her sternum until she forced it down with measured breathing until her lungs released. It happened now and again, even all these weeks later; one moment she’d be fine, and the next her heart was breaking into a million shattered pieces all over again. Nausea roiled her stomach, but that too would pass; it always did. And when it was over she would still be here, and he would still be in Hell. And it was unfair.

 _What if,_ her thoughts began to flit into dangerous territory. _What if I had never found Father Kinely? What if I had been strong enough, brave enough, from the beginning? And not let myself lose sight of what really mattered, and lost so much time…_

_Lost so much..._

She sucked in the breath before the sob escaped between her teeth, fumbling through the left-hand drawer for a bottle of Advil, a headache already blooming behind her eyes.

She swallowed the pills with a swig of cold coffee and nearly gagged. _Unfit for human consumption,_ as Lucifer often put it. _Damn you for spoiling me with your stupid perfect lattes,_ discomfort spurred into another emotion, _for leaving me here to suffer the precinct’s terrible home brew. And damn You,_ she tilted her head skywards, allowing the tears to be reabsorb at the source, _for leaving Your son to believe Hell was the only place he deserved._

Another moment passed before she trusted her body to get to her feet, preparing to pull the files and spending the afternoon in review; she could ask Dan for a fresh pair of eyes, maybe he’d spot something she overlooked. She just needed her stomach to settle first. And a minute after that realized this was not going to to be the case, no matter how sternly she willed it to do so. Unceremoniously, she bolted.

Fantastic. Because all she needed now was to add was stress-induced vomiting to the list of symptoms she was going to ignore. Because she was _not_ going back to Linda, and she was _not_ ready to be told she needed to start letting go, or to find closure or some other healthy means of dealing with her loss. Because that would also be unfair.

She dismissed these thoughts as she heaved over the precinct's inglorious white basin until she was spent and humbled, but not defeated, even if she had to rest her forehead against the cold, concrete wall.

_Dammit, Lucifer; you don’t get to suffer this alone..._

**─────⋅☽ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────**

The skies of Hell were grey. Not the soft grey before dawn, or the rich, prussian grey that foretold the bounty of rain; it was grey that spoke of eternity, churning and unrelenting.

They had not always been grey; once, before the realms began there had been Darkness here, rich and black and endless. That was a time before there was memory, before Gods. In those days colour was insignificant, and the black rolled in heaving waves, for an eternity billowing and blowing until one day the Chaos was parted. Because, it is told, God spoke, _“Let there be Light.”_

Before that moment, it had never occurred to to the Darkness that there _could_ be something else, it had simply Always Been. But now Light spilled over the realm, and the Dark was cut from the Light, Day was separated from Night, and what had once been whole was fragmented and segregated into two halves, each defined by their distinction from the other.

Before there was Light, Darkness slept, the dreaming-time before day made dreams a thing of diminished substance.

Before Light, the Darkness knew not of its own fallibility.

It was after the Light came and Darkness receded down the channel into the well of the realms and where Hell came into being, suspended like the fill between great roots of a prodigious tree, as far away from the Light of Heaven as it could reach without sinking into the last of that primordial Darkness that lay deep below its surface.

Hell was the natural conclusion to the Order, and the Gods never gave it question. As Heaven existed, it too simply was. It was a drear place, undisciplined and corrupted, like the lost memories of old dreams that could have been, of transgressions and fundamental regrets. In the shadows the eyes played tricks on the mind and warped the heart, for Hell was savage and unyielding.

And it was here, where the Light last lingered before the Darkness, a silent war that transpired in the blink of an eye, and in that millisecond transforming everything from the moment before into everything that would would ever be, resolved its last breath and turned endlessly into grey.

It mattered little now, any of that, and there were few here even in bowels of Hell who would remember it. Now the grey simply _was._ It stretched like a mood, suffocating any that dared breach it. That was the will of its King, and the King was to be obeyed. Those who didn’t, became of even lesser consequence the moment after.

At least, if he was in a _good_ mood.

If he was in a bad mood, well, then even Hell trembled.

Today Lucifer was in ill-humour. It could have had something to do with the Egynese army who had staged another revolt on the Amaymon at the northern pass; in-fighting between the demon fractions and other inhabitants of Hell were so common it was generally to be expected. The fact that it had even come to his attention at all had more to do with the questionable selection of materials his new Advisor had chosen to report on that morning (he’d have to deal with that later too; he was forever running out of competent advisors because of his tendencies to shoot them when he disliked the news). But the civil unrest was a fine distraction and he compelled himself to respond, making a great show of his disdain with much head-bashing and flashing of crimson. Then he’d left for his High Throne in a slash of transcendent wings leaving the remaining denizens to think about what they’d done.

In truth, the demons _loved_ this.

Granted, demons were easily entertained by a little drama and bloodshed, but they loved their King. In the old days he had always assumed it was simply a matter of Order; he was Angel, they were Demons. They were drawn to him like moths to a light, unable to look away even if it killed them. They were lesser creatures, they had no soul. Just as he had been made to serve his Father, so had they to serve him. Or so he had always presumed.

Then he’d gone to Earth that last time with Maze, and everything had gone topsy-turvy...

 _Nope,_ he shut that locomotive down even before it got out of the shed. Not going to start think about _that._

He instantly regretted his choice in dramatic exits because the throne was so perfectly suited to meditative brooding. His hands gripped the polished stone, drumming his fingers there with distraction. He missed playing his piano; he had one, deep in the palace chambers, but the atmosphere in Hell ensured it never kept in tune. He wished for cuff-links to fiddle into place, but there were none of those on his fitted armour, polished black plate over carved black leather, embroidered through with filament of searing red; as much as adored Armani, it just didn’t give off the “do or die” vibe one came to appreciate in Hell. His eyes roved over the grey horizon, the stretch blurring into infinity and even his reach discerned no change in across the sprawling lay. It never did, for Hell never changed.

Hell was everything he despised.

Created, he felt, to remind him exactly of everything lost - no stars, no music, no variation or innovation. Nothing a soul that had once embodied them all could find within its bleak existence to sustain. There was no gentleness here, no respite, nothing but the persistence of memories that rained like ash from the tremulous sky, of things that could not be.

No boring evenings spent in the warmth of _her_ home, playing board games with the Spawn; no lyrical sound of her voice that could have him fetching down the moon if she’d asked, even when she was scolded him (let’s be honest, he loved the fire that flashed when she did, igniting something he had no trouble identifying among all his other feelings); there were no more eyes of sea-lit blue to hold him fixed, enveloped in their grace, no further reprieve from the millennia of isolation and despair which she with one small word, one soft kiss, had vanquished.

A harsh sound, almost a laugh, forced itself from him and he let it come, let it bubble until the rage coursed like magma in his veins and lighting his eyes with fire. Casting skyward he leered, the grin breaking with uncannily pointed teeth. “Well done, Dad,” he spat. “Check, _and_ mate. You won. _Are you finally happy now?!”_

But beyond the breathless howling of the wind, the sky was silent, as it always had been. And in this silence his laughter grew, directed inwards now, the butt of this grand celestial jest, as he wondered hazily how many eons his father had set in its planning. Because not only was he in Hell of his own accord, here he would remain, forfeiting everything that could truly have brought him happiness. And keener still, that he would do it again, all over again, to the same results, if only to be granted those short, sanguine moments in her grace.

The ache which had never gone away spread through his chest, squeezing with such a ferocity it drove the breath from his lungs and caused his heart to stutter and squelch. He wished it would just finally end him, but of course it stubbornly wouldn’t (curse of immortality, really). He wasn’t sure you could actually _die_ from feelings, it was one of those things he’d never got around to asking Linda before he left.

Further fixing his thoughts on Linda for the moment helped to bring his breathing back to a normal rhythm; he slowly released the crushing grip on the stone, frowning at the crumbling grooves his fingers left there. No matter; Hell would repair the throne in no time, and it would be again as if it had never happened at all. Ash had begun to spiral downwards, silently coating the world with even more grey.

With disgust he flexed his wings, shuddering the ash. He turned his head the moment before a bright burst of blue swelled in the low-lying mountains beyond the Columns of the Damned. Smoke pillared upwards, adding more grey to the sky.

“Bloody demons,” he cursed, already spreading his wings.

He wondered briefly if he should return to the castle and retrieved his entourage, but rejected that just as quickly. He was in no real danger from the Demon hoards, and he didn’t have any suicidal wishes, at least not today. Besides he was sure Pangenie would scold him either way. She was his Praetorian, his right-hand demon, a position he had filled shortly after returning as a matter of decorum, but also realized it provided him a great deal of usefulness in its own right. Pan was his eyes and ears throughout the kingdom, and while no one could be compared to Mazikeen – that would simply be unfair – she was competent, cunning and decisive. As the years went by they’d slipped into an easy, almost camaraderie – or as close as he would let himself become to anyone in Hell. She would have quite a few words to say when he returned, and it made him grin ever so slightly at the thought. Hmm; maybe he _did_ have a type.

The flight across the realm took seconds, because angel wings were immune to constraints of time and space and moved between the two as easily as a light through a window; he arrived above the source of distress, angling sharply in his decent.

The grand stone archway – once ornately carved and decorated in polished jet done in time immemorial – now lay cleaved in half, one side still standing but the other listing perilously to the side. It marked the entrance into the southern realm of Amaymon, on which whose doorstep the tribes of Egyn had gathered.

They seemed to be having a bit of a tiff, if the factions of bracing soldiers were to be interpreted correctly (these were demons, and there was often little to distinguish between a jovial or dolorous occasion, except perhaps the singing – which was always dreadful). The cannon, however, still smouldering from its last eruption, left a distinctive sort of calling card.

He lighted on the still-standing portion of the archway, his wings illuminating the dim and announcing his presence. Both sides fell into scuttled silence, waiting for their King to speak.

“This is why demons can’t have nice things,” he tsked, surveying their dishevelled ranks for faces he recognized. The General on the Egyn side looked familiar, and he realized it was the father of the Advisor he’d shafted last week. Pan had said this might cause some unrest, but unrest between demons was so tedious it hardly deserved factoring. Besides, last he’d heard the bloke was recovering just fine at the city’s bathhouse. “You know, I have little interest in how you choose to destroy each other, but is it too much to ask you not trash the place in the process?”

“My Lord,” spoke the Amaymon general, “Your presence delights us! I would be honoured to explode some Egynlings on your behalf!”

“Not before we drive ya thieving masses back into the dreary mountains from which ye came!” the Egyn general bellowed, flourishing a hell-forged spear. Such metal was precious, even here. Coveted and rare, to possess it was to designate one’s wealth and rank. Maybe Pan had been on to something, Lucifer considered fleetingly.

“Lofty words coming from the hoard battering down _my_ door!” the other sneered.

“Enough,” Lucifer spoke. His gaze drifted between the two, and both shivered, just slightly under that scrutiny. He found it pleased him. “There is to be no exploding of anyone, not until someone explains this bloody mess. And I’ll start with you–” he nodded to the Egynese General, “since your opponent makes a good point. Why have your people pushed so far south? The Egynese rarely leave the pleasantries of your nasty bog.”

The demon bristled, causing spikes to raise along the length of his spine. Not all demons were of the Lillium; there were lines far older, reaching deep into the recesses of a primordial time, of great beasts formed of stuff so ancient they bore no resemblance to man, beasts of air and ether and dreams. Old magic ran there too, perhaps, even older than him, and some demons retained this primal element.

“To bring war on his doorstep, not ours! Ashmedai has sullied our fields long enough! Now he even strips the bogs of their peat, turning the waterways to swill!”

Ashmedai’s general laughed, tipping her head back so that her crested helmet tumbled to the ground with a clatter. “Listen to that, will you? An Egynling complaining about the state of his water? When they bathe and defecate in the same–”

“Did I give you leave to _speak,_ demon?” the King had moved so fast the legions coward, shielding their eyes from the painful radiance of his flared wings. He stood before them, fire etching the contours of face. The general, to her credit didn’t flinch, but her mouth snapped shut, a callous look in her eyes. He recognized her then, Gallain, a daughter of Ashmedai and Lilith, for she had the same ruddy hair and face as her father, when he chose to look handsome. She was also as powerful a figure in her father’s realm as ever there was one, but was nothing, as she understood, to her King.

Lucifer allowed the hellfire to dim from his eyes. He turned to the other, who’s spines had clamped back against his person in response to the Angel’s vexation. “Go home,” he spoke quietly. “Go home and repair your fields and care for your injured. Or eat them, as I hear it is the custom. You’ve achieved your retribution; an arch for an ache, as they say.

“Now, I–” he continued before any demon could make the mistake and speak, “–feel the sudden and inexplicable urge to pay Ashmedai a personal visit. In the meanwhile,” he turned to Gallain, gaining some satisfaction in the subtle way her features paled ever so slightly at his gander. “You’ve got an army; clean up this mess.”

⋅☽ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

He lighted on the ebony balcony that broke Ashmedai’s castle from the west, where if there had been a sun, he could have watched it plunge into the rippling sulphur sea. This close to the burning blue ocean the smell was terrible. He wondered if Ashmedai had any discernible sense of smell left.

Wrinkling his nose in disgust he shrugged his wings away and swept quickly along the narrowing passage that lead to main hall. “Ashmedai,” he announced, entering the room, but found someone else waiting there instead.

“Lucifer,” she didn’t lift her eyes from the thick ledgers spread across the slab table. “For what do I owe the pleasure of this intrusion?”

“Oh, I don’t know… might it have something to do with the _huge explosion_ in your Duke’s back yard?”

“I did wonder about that. But… demons. You know how they are.”

“They’re _your_ children.”

“Some, yes; I thought you quite enjoyed them.”

He pursed his lips, refusing to be drawn in. The woman continued to read, her long, dark hair drawn from her face and pinned in an untidy clasp, allowing the loose ends to tumble around the shoulders of her burgundy dress. Her features were pronounced, but she was not unbeautiful, and though youth had played its game across her flesh, she did not appear much older than a human of some 40 years. But this was illusion, or at least, an insignificance; she had, after all, been in Hell longer than him.

He returned the conversation to the matter at hand. “Ashmedai. Where–”

“Haven’t seen him in days.” The woman finally looked up, sinking back in her chair to regard the angel, her expression wry. “And he’s not _my_ Duke. Not any more than you’re my King.”

His brows furrowed. “Tread carefully, Lilith…whatever games you’re playing…”

“Honestly,” she shook her head, returning her attention to the books, “You have too much time on your hands if you’re pulling _me_ into your celestial conspiracy theories. Is Pangenie not working out for you? I thought you had a definite thing going there. When’s the last time you got laid?”

His mouth opened and closed and he clamped it shut, unfurling his wings with a pop of air. But he was prevented from answering by a commotion somewhere below, the wails of protest and bellow of voices carrying into the great hall. “Sounds like your entourage is here,” Lilith sighed. “Please restrain your demons from destroying too much of the castle?”

“Still your children,” he snarked.

“Touché,” she conceded as the troupe burst into the room.

“Lucifer!” his Praetorian exclaimed upon securing eyes on her king, then sweeping the room for possible threats, her pronged sai embellishing the movement, “Lilith,” she stiffened, but otherwise concluded with the sheathing of her hell-forged blades. Behind her two demons of lesser rank followed suit. “We saw the explosion; you might have considered alerting me – _your security detail_ – before pursuing the the source yourself?!”

“Now Pan, I’m a big Devil; although I do appreciate your concern.” He smiled passively at her unbridled annoyance, his gaze returning to Lilith observing them from above her books. “I was just about to leave, anyways; could have saved you the trip.”

“Could have saved us all a trip if you’d been smashed by an Egyn cannon,” Pan muttered, unfurling her own wings. Beside the angel’s, they were a poor man’s counterfeit - rangy and bedraggled, brown feathers that dipped to crimson matching the demon's blood-red hair. Her people were the descendants of Harpies, fierce arbitrators boldly patrolling the skies, but that was a long time ago. He had no doubt the lust that filled her eyes at times when she gazed at him had little to do with his person and everything with that confounded affliction of his Father’s on his back; he never let her touch them.

“As Ashmedai is so conveniently absent,” he began, his words measured so there might be no mistaking his intent. “I trust you will deliver him this message: that he will keep his armies within his borders, and his production in line with stipulations of the accord he signed. Did he really think me a fool? When the supply of wood becomes too valuable that his cities go without, prompting the armies to pillage peat from abroad... why, only the needs of the _forge_ are set above those of the people, the forge from which spews the foundations of both life and war – in particular, a war benefited by the use of hell-forged blades. _No_ war has been sanctioned within the realm, and he will comply with the letter of the treaty. Do you receive my message, Lilith?”

“I do,” she spoke lowly.

“Then see that he doesn’t disappoint me.”

“Or what? You’ll do to him like you did Dromos?”

At the name a fire swept through his being like the sharp, bitter shards of regret. He snarled, palms clenched into fists, but would not give her that satisfaction of seeing him come undone, not even when the results would be dangerous – particularly for her. Dromos, who’s battered bones had been strung above the gates leading to the central City, hanging as a reminder to all who’d disobeyed; that had been the part of the demons. He would like to say that most of what proceeded its hanging had been at the hands of demons too, but that had never been his lot. Rage had coiled like a frail rod tighter and tighter until it snapped, and Dromos had been at the receiving end of of his fury. He lost track of time as he plied and tethered him, stripped him of every sense of self, and then began breaking his bones. When he was exhausted, he rested; when he aroused, he began the torture again. And with each exsanguinated cry he wrenched from his crumpled throat Dromos had begged for mercy, which he was only too happy to withhold. When it was over, the demons crept from their hiding places, weary to attract the attention of their Lord, to poke at and desecrate the body further until they were satisfied it was done. Who had strung it over the wall he didn’t know, and didn’t ask. And so the bones still hung, a decade later, partially obscured by ash, a terrible grin still leering at all who passed beneath its broken jaws.

“We were just leaving,” Pangenie chirped at her, flaring her wings aggressively. “Do with the information as you wish, I don’t care. Perhaps the citizens of Amaymon would welcome a new Duke…”

“It’s talking again, Lucifer, but I don’t believe it knows what it’s saying.”

Pan snapped, snatching the sai from their sheaths and leaping forward, or would have, had not Lucifer’s hand landed on the bow of her wing.

“See now, the thing about _landing_ a dramatic exit is that you actually have to leave,” he directed her towards the balcony, the guards trailing behind. To Lilith he made no further acknowledgement, even as she curled her fingers at them as they went out the door.

She was silent until they were again beneath the grey-sodden skies. “Lucifer–”

“I think I’ll take the scenic route back,” he mused.

“Oh no – You _do not_ get to fly away after I wing it all the way here with Bogs and Nersi in a haste because I suspect the Lord of Hell has gone to check out the latest explosion _because he just can’t say no to bright, shiny objects–”_

“Ah, Pan – you _do_ know me so well!” he crowed, and leapt over the wall.

 _“Bloody Angels!”_ she swore, watching the King become an infinitely smaller speck of white against the horizon. She cursed with a tongue that left no question of her half-bred harpy roots, steeling herself against the hot sulphuric air as she launched herself into the sky.

Behind her the guards, Bogs and Nersi, sighed in dismay. She had been their ride. Not only had the trip proved terribly disappointing (they’d been promised a good spine-shucking, and there hadn't been a single spine to be shucked all day) both were now faced with the prospect trekking back through the badlands of Hell on foot. As it was, Nersi was taken by a roving tribe of feral demons, escaped, lost an arm to a Night Terror (which considering he had three to begin with might have been an improvement) only to perish in a geyser the other had insisted was dormant. Bogs was pursued and eaten by a bear.

Hell mourned nobody, and so it passed like ashes covering the ground and was forgotten.

  
  
─────⋅☽ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for making it all the way here, I know that was a HUGE of a first chapter! Also un-beta'd, so all errors are on me. 
> 
> This is my first actual fic on the site, so, hi everybody! Comments, commentary, and corrections are always welcomed & I'll try to respond to everyone. Kudos are much adored too <3
> 
> This story is in progress but does have a large buffer that should allow me to post weekly (or sooner? we'll see!) & estimate it will finish between 100K-150K providing I don't discover too many demons in the subplots. 
> 
> It has some pretty well-explored tropes & themes at this point but I hope you'll enjoy my take on them. Plus Lilith is such a nifty character to explore (Hint: she's not really a bad guy here). Very curious to see if she'll make an _actual_ appearance in Season 5 (or 6? if we can dream?) And, while we're dreaming, my dream-cast Lilith would be played by Rosario Dawson because she's both beautiful and bad-ass and brings a lot of heart. So yeah. That's my over-share for today! 
> 
> Cheers & happy reading <3
> 
> Oh, and here's a pic of Pan for you, who, for not being a planned character, was pretty persistent:  
> [](https://photos.smugmug.com/photos/i-2jvZrHQ/0/57fe451b/O/i-2jvZrHQ.jpg)


	2. Law & Disorder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains more case-fic than I ever intended to write. I'm also going to apologize for my spanish in advance.

She never claimed to have any real understanding Hell, or even understood fully what her partner had experienced there, but as he stood before her – all wrought sinew and furious red flesh and crowned by wide sickled wings above his head – she didn’t need to. All she needed to know was that he was in pain, and that was enough to override the primal flight response that warred inside as she faced him, framed in all his brutal, hellish glory.

His eyes burned like coals set in a starless night as he spat out the words. “I know why I hate myself – because everything I touch I _ruin.”_ The wings flared, punctuating his speech, and it took everything she could muster stay in place. “From rebellion with dad, and now… look at what I’ve put you through,” his gaze faltered when he saw her flinch. “I _hate_ that I am _poison_ to everyone who dares to care about me. Especially you…”

In that moment he only looked broken, the scarred flesh an extension of his inner torment and agony. He was broken and ugly and couldn’t meet her eyes. Shuffling the great wings around himself he slipped through the doors towards the balcony.

She breathed. A short, ragged breath, and then another. It was true her chest pounded, her eyes cast skyward as she rallied herself, but then she moved towards him. “Lucifer, I’m okay. I haven’t crumbled into a million pieces, I’m _still_ here – and I’m fine.”

“If I turn around will you still be fine, or will you look away in horror?”

“It doesn’t matter–”

 _“’Course_ it does, Detective!”

But she rebuked him, “no, _it doesn’t._ Because this isn’t about me. This is about you.”

She was in the doorway, an arm’s reach if he were to turn around. “I’m not going to let you use me as an excuse to avoid dealing with what’s behind all this!” Her voice cut out, and he felt like it cut something within him too, until she found her place again and pushed forward with brisk, levelled urgency. “You talk about how much you hate being blamed for humanity’s sins – you know, ‘the Devil made me do it’ – and I think I know why you hate it so much, because deep down, you blame yourself _just_ as much. If not more. You have to stop taking responsibility for things you can’t control...

 _“Lucifer…”_ her words were a prayer, a soft, gentle implore between her lips. _“You need to forgive yourself.”_

“I can’t.”

“Why?” her heart clenched. In that moment she knew she could not loose him, not ever, and not like this.

“I don’t know how to. I don’t even know where to begin. But…”

Hope was a dangerous thing.

“But _what?”_

At last he turned. “I want to.”

His form shifted, slowly, the way sunlight breaks and streams through diminishing cover, the blemishes seared away and replaced with light. And then he was standing there as he looked the day she first met him, her partner, the man she loved, who also happened to be an Angel, and the Devil, and she loved him still.

“Lucifer…” she breathed, “I think you just took the first step.”

Confusion, then disbelief and wonder flashed through his wildly expressive eyes as he realized what was happening; as anguish had so completely shackled him, now his joy burst bright and quick. “Look at that, Detective… we did it!” And he was back, whole again, with ever the defiant gleam returning to his eyes. “Well it looks like evil won’t be released after all!”

She laughed, because of course he would get in the last jab, hands clasping at her sides as if her body couldn’t contain everything she was feeling. He was already moving again, preening, happy to be in his skin as he crossed the apartment with renewed purpose. “Right then, let’s go! We’ve still got a Kinley to catch–” he ducked into the dressing room “–and I don’t know about you, but I could definitely use a drink...”

Confusion settled over her own features. “Lucifer, what are you doing?”

“Putting on a shirt,” he popped his head out. “Unless you prefer I stay like this, in which case– Detective?”

A full-blown frown had captured her face and he padded back to her, already concerned. “Are you really okay?” his look was pensive and falling, as if he suspected there was no joy so easily won which could not be brought to its knees the moment after. “Because you don’t–”

She stopped him in his tracks. “I am. I really am.” She needed him to understand that, as best he could. “You…don’t need to go rushing out like this. We _will_ get Kinley. I will make sure we that do. But more important to _me,_ right now,” her fingers rapped against his chest for emphasis, “I need you to be okay, too.”

“You... need me,” he tried to pull his voice into a familiar quip but it didn’t quite land, the emotion too near to the surface.

She smiled anyways. “Yeah, I do.”

His smile this time was soft and genuine, his fingers finding hers as he clasped them at his chest. The weight of the world which had pressed so dauntingly moments earlier had fallen away, leaving in its place a euphoric sort of high that left her weak in the knees. It was from the adrenaline rush; that was clearly what it was. Not because of his proximity or the way his other hand ghosted above her hip, still uncertain to land. Or that she could feel the ply of his pectorals beneath her fingers that left little doubt he’d been working out (oh she had noticed, yes, she noticed). Or that she’d noticed the hitch in his breathing, when she touched him, or the way her own body had responded to that divulgence.

He beheld her with something akin to reverence, almost astonishment, as if everything else he could deny himself, so long as he had _this,_ this moment; this was all he needed.

And still, flitting in the peripherals was a nearly palpable hum of desire. And it occurred to her, that until that moment she hadn’t known for sure – she’d been too afraid to know – that after everything that happened, everything she’d done… that he could still want her. That he would. That he _did._ And realizing this broke a dam that had ensnared her heart, woven of guilt and profound regret, and in one great wave washed it away.

She pressed his hand to her hip, granting him leave, and when he inclined towards her with the movement she met him half way. Lips brushed lips and held, an admission tenderly confessed. “Chloe,” he breathed against her, like her name were holy and he would worship it with his breath a thousand times, and a thousand more, if she would let him. The question lingered.

“I’m still okay,” she found his eyes. “Are you?”

He moved his hands to cup her face and looked at her as if all the world was beheld within his gaze. “With you, always,” he said, and it was so.

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

She awoke with a start, the memory fading even while the heat of it lingered on her skin. She could almost feel the ghost of fingers against her cheek and tried to grasp at them before she was fully awake, her touch finding nothing but the slick of cold sweat she was drenched in. Night was still and enclosing. Chloe pulled herself up, clutching the crumpled sheets to her chest as if to muffle the pounding that seemed so loud in her ears.

The clock told it would be another hour before the sun began to peel through the blinds and her alarm would signify the start of her day; too long to be alone with her thoughts when they skulked and flitted about the room like delirious beasts. The room churned, and she collapsed back against the headboard, too exhausted to admit anything but defeat.

Memories still haunted, and at last she tried to grasp them, as if she could bring them back to herself before they faded so much that they became dreams.

Because that, _that_ might break her. Because she remembered the way she felt that night with visceral clarity, her skin alight, how he felt against her, the heat of his body pressing and filling every part of hers. Every word had been a caress, every caress a prayer, as if each had found what they’d been missing within the other’s space, had found completeness within it.

And afterwards, he had only protested ever so slightly when she had to go, because the sitter was still waiting. He offered to drive, but her car was there, and besides, _one_ of them still had to be at work early in the morning. He agreed that would be her.

 _‘Get some rest,’_ she’d scolded lightly.

 _‘Won’t do that either,’_ he’d playfully defied.

 _‘Then I will see you at our next case,’_ she concluded, and the look they’d shared held much promise and such hope.

And 12 hrs later the world as they knew it would fall apart again.

And in less than 24hrs after that he was back in Hell, and she was alone.

“No,” she whimpered, for suddenly the memories were coming hard and unbidden, of that last night, of the balcony as he’d stood with the city spread below and the sky bereft of stars; when she’d finally been brave enough, but was already too late.

 _‘I love you,’_ she begged, _‘please don’t go…’_

But fairytales were the thing of children’s stories, and happy endings happened only within their piously sterilized pages.

Real Life was chaos, ineloquent at the best of times, for that was the price of Free Will. And yet... for a few moments within this tangled mess of struggle and war, poetry arose; pigments bled from an artist’s brush and coloured the world; hope mingled amongst the distress and even from the smallest seed life found a way to ignite, defy all odds and flourish.

And yet, what was the will of one small human against the might of Gods?

If the fairytales spoke any truth, it was that humans in the path of Gods were rarely spared.

She sat alone in the room, heavy with the weight of truths, willing the darkness to be merciful and lull her down into a mindless sleep.

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

“You’re late.”

 _“Don’t start,”_ she nearly took his head off causing Dan to recoil physically. Ella also gave him a look of silent reprimand even though it wasn’t remotely clear to him what just happened. It was times like this he missed Lucifer most, simply because the guy was so good at running interference, mostly due to his natural immunity to reading a room and redirecting his partner’s ire unto himself. So maybe Lucifer was actually good for something; there was the day’s revelation. He returned his gaze to Chloe and decided his best course of action was to distract her with the files.

“Miranda Cole, that’s our victim, age 22; came from an average, middle-class working family, had a big falling out with her folks right before she left for college and they hadn’t seen much of her since. When Palmer and I went to delivered the news, they didn’t even seem surprised. She had a few misdemeanours, mostly possession, shoplifting, her juvie record is still sealed but I’m willing to bet it was much the same. Last point of contact given she was a woman’s shelter through this Revival Church mission; maybe someone there would know her better.”

“And the tox report?”

“Succinylcholine,” Ella chirped. “You were right.”

Chloe nodded grimly, scanning the report with measured resolve. She hated being right about something like this, but that’s why she was a detective. She reached for another folder and pulled up the Donoghue file, laying the two side-by side. “Same sedatives, same methodology, right down to the creepy dress. That’s more than enough for me to take a second look. Who oversees the Revival Mission? Do we have that info?”

Dan was already pulling it up on his tablet. “It’s a subsidiary of the Church of the Last Judgment.” He glanced at the papers on the table. “We seem to have ourselves a match.”

Her stomach dropped further. It was pointless to speculate if they could have done more back then to prevent this now, because she knew they couldn’t catch everyone; they shouldn’t hold themselves responsible for the few who wheedled their way through the cracks, but it still didn’t make it feel any better. It also didn’t help that she’d been losing a battle with her stomach all morning, although no clear victor had yet arose on either side. She funnelled her thoughts back onto the case in hand, because that was where she could make the most difference going forward.

“Perhaps it’s time to pay Reverend Sommers another visit. And see how directly he worked with the Revival Mission, or if there is anyone else from his immediate circle who does.”

Beside her, the sound of a pudding cup being opened cut the silence with acuity.

Dan felt eyes on him. “What?” he looked up. “I missed breakfast. Besides, after what happened with Lucifer I don’t think the minister is going to let us anywhere near his convocation without a warrant. And the mission is on the other side of the downtown; this time of day, we won’t be back until after lunch,” he emphasized the punctuation with his spoon.

“So you’re going to eat pudding while a creepy murdering cultist is wandering around L.A–”

“Oh, HEY!” Ella announced in a well-timed interjection. “Looks like our creepy minister dude is hosting an Open House this whole week; what are the odds of that? And it’s open to the public, sooo….”

“Perfect. We can head out–”

“Or,” Dan interjected, his pudding spoon laden and hovering. “We split up, Palmer and I check out this open house, you can take the mission. With... Ella! You needed some more field hours, didn’t you?”

“Oh, so now you’re avoiding me. Real mature, Dan,” her eyes narrowed as he brought the spoon towards his lips.

“No…” he spoke very carefully, freezing every muscle in place. “It’s… efficient!”

“Like eating pudding during a briefing meeting.”

“...yes?”

Chloe leaned over and snatched the spoon, downing the bite with an efficient and calculated swallow. She mulled it over. “Fine. How’s you and Palmer do the mission, and Ella is more than welcome to ride along if she wants.” Her eyes narrowed, her focus aligned now that a target was in her sites. “Leave the minister to me.”

With that she scooped the pudding from his other hand and exited, the air recoiling from the room in her wake.

“Whoa,” Ella breathed. “Serious Vader vibes there. I got chills.”

“Yeah,” Dan frowned at his empty hands, a curious expression creeping over his face. “You’re also getting into the car with that. Good luck. Maybe bring snacks...”

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

“It says here, _The Church of the Last Judgment_ was founded six years ago when Reverend Sommers had a falling out with his own Evangelical ministries; there was a huge to-do about it because he took a core group of patrons and there’s allegations of expropriated funds and what not, although nothing ever came of those charges. He oversees two missions within L.A, and has subsidiaries in Ghana, the Dominican, and Brazil, where the church provides both education and medical attention to at-risk populations.” Ella frowned. “Asides from the whole ‘repent or die’ vibe they’ve got going, I guess they’re trying to do good in the word?”

“His definition of ‘good’ may be a little misguided.”

“It’s whacked,” Ella agreed. “There’s a lot of skeevy stuff that goes on in the name of faith.”

The Detective glanced over at the young woman, a frown touching her own lips. “I’m sorry, I should have asked if this kind of case would make you uncomfortable.”

“Why? Because of my faith?” the lab tech grinned. “No way. Everyone’s free to follow their faith as thee see fit; that’s why we have free will, right? So that we can choose to have a relationship with God, and even choose what that relationship might involve. If we didn’t have that… how meaningful could any relationship be? But yeah… it also means there’s room for bad decisions. For people to make claims about God that don’t really come from a place of love or compassion. Because the way I see it, His biggest message to us was all about _love,_ so if you’re not doing something that expresses love, you’re not really doing God’s work.”

“So... the whole ‘God is Love’ shtick,” Chloe cast a glance skyward as she drove.

“Yeah. At least, that’s what _I_ believe,” Ella shrugged. “Didn’t mean to dump a whole theology exposition on you.”

“No, it’s fine,” she sighed. “I guess… my relationship… with _God,”_ the word nearly stuck on her tongue, “has been really complicated lately.”

“No doubt,” she empathized. “But, you got this. You know that.”

“Not _‘God’s got this?’”_ she quirked.

“Nu-uh, that would defeat the purpose. I mean, maybe you can look at it like, He’s got _you,_ so you can get _this,_ but then starts to get borderline with wondering if things are happening for this reason or that–”

“So you don’t believe in there being a set destiny for everyone.”

“Not really, no; I mean, maybe, He has a plan for us… but we’re all pretty capable of screwing that plan up, y’know?”

Gravel crunched as they pulled off the main road, the sign for _Church of the Last Judgment_ hanging ominously in a bold display of sentiment over the gate to the parking lot. The building itself was unchanged from the visit a year ago, modest, modern, white-walled with a sloping copper roof that met at the apex in a tall, simple spire. They parked in silence, then turned to the main doors. “Think we can just walk in…?”

“We’re about to find out,” Chloe shrugged as they climbed out of the vehicle.

The wide wooden doors to the building were open, air conditioning be damned. “Definitely a sin,” Ella quipped under her breath.

“Why, good afternoon!” a broadly smiling woman greeted them in the hall. “I’m Gladys! You young ladies here for the open house? You’re just in time; the reverend will be saying grace in just a few minutes. Go on in and sit yourself down anywhere!” She ushered them out of the hallway and through the next set of doors where several parishioners had already taken their seats in the large room beyond.

The altar room was white, stark, with high vaulted ceiling that sloped towards the raised platform at the front, dominated by an pale golden cross. A few candles burned, and even though she’d only been to church a few times (weddings, funerals, and when Dan’s family insisted Trixie have some knowledge of the family’s roots, though this had only lasted a couple of visits due to their child's uncanny ability to ask the tough questions of her Sunday School teacher) even in this modern setting a familiar scent of candle wax and furniture polish on wooden pews thickened the air. Despite the light and swooped ceilings, she just felt heavy here, and out-of-place.

“Did you want to stay for the service,” Ella whispered, “or do some super-sleuthing while–”

 _“You!”_ a voice rang behind them and they whirled to find the infamous reverend himself was at the side doorway, his finger raised in a dramatic denunciation as if intent on casting out the Devil himself. Except the Devil wasn’t here, of course, and he was pointing at the Detective, yet even as he did his eyes kept swerving around, wide and wild and expectant. “Where is he? _Where is he!_ By the power vested–”

“My partner isn’t here, it’s just me, Reverend,” she levelled slowly. “I wanted to talk with you, if that’s okay…”

“I reported you!” he spun around. “Your whole department! Sinners and malefactors, all of you!” His translucent skin flushed pink, making his silvered hair stand out even more. “But that… _that partner_ of yours…”

“Yeah, he has that affect on people. But that’s beside the point. What I’d really like–”

“Blasphemy! Heretic and provocateur!” he began again with vitriol, emboldened now that he was satisfied they were alone. “The End of Days are upon us, the end of times when all our sins are laid out and bare before the Lord! And how the mighty shall tumble, the sinners shall weep, as the foundations of the world crumble away and the beasts rise up and devour the unbelievers in their stead! _And you!”_ he bristled forward. “You are not welcomed within these wall, ye who walks with Satan! Who forsake the paths of uprightness, to walk in the ways of darkness; who turns away from the Lord to lure us all into suffering and decay... the Day of Judgment comes to pass _because of people like you–”_

“Hey – hey now!” Ella landed in front of Chloe with her hands up and open. “With all due respect– that is NOT COOL! And I can see we’ve started this all on the wrong foot, and we totally did not mean to cause a scene in a house of God--” she gestured upwards. “But, isn’t _everyone_ supposed to be welcomed here, to reconnect with the Big Guy, like – isn’t that the point?”

“Let’s go,” the Detective touched her shoulder quietly while the Reverend sputtered, presumably searching for his next sermon. The other nodded without hesitation and they slipped from the corridor and through the open doors, back into the searing bright LA sunshine.

When they reached the car Ella dropped into the seat with slam. “Some people!” she berated, a stream of spanish expanding on her point. “I hope Lucifer _did_ rip him a new one when he had a chance, because another minute of that I would have! _Idiotas de Dios…”_ She heaved a sigh, reaching for her water bottle, finding it warm, and chugged anyways. “Chloe?”

The Detective was sitting facing forwards, hands on the wheel, but she hadn’t turned the key in the ignition.

“He was a total piece of work, you know. And a really bad example of God’s work, that’s for sure. Don’t let what he said get to you; I bet he says that to all the smexy, confident, modern-women police detectives who come through his door. Some people gotta type, you know.”

She saw the shudder, but after another slow breath it settled and she nodded firmly. “Thank you, Ella. Again.”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet. I know where we’re heading next!”

“After that? I’m not sure–”

“Do you trust me, Decker?”

She regarded her another moment and then turned the ignition.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

“Allright, this was a good idea.”

“Told’ya I got your back,” Ella beamed over the top of her heaping ice cream sundae.

They were seated on a tiny deck-side patio overlooking the boulevard, which Ella insisted had the best roadside chili dogs this side of LA. Plus the fries were good, the churros were good, and the desserts were to die-for, and by the time the tiny latino was done ordering Chloe was sure there’s no way they’d eat that much food. But Ella packed away an astonishing amount for such a small person, and if Chloe did end up eating most of the fries, and also the churros, she said nothing of it but wore the grin all the way through dessert. Now she was watching, eagle-eyed, as she nibbled at her (comparatively modest) dipped cone, and Chloe couldn’t help but grin a little herself in earnest. She felt… content, actually. And then…

“Oh no – not that frown again; whatcha thinking about now?” Ella wagged a spoon at her. “You know, if you keep on _not talking_ about him like this, it will eat you like a bad toe fungus. So, let’s spill it.”

She sighed, lodging a last ditch attempt at protest before giving in. “I don’t know. I’m just… worried about him, I guess. And I feel… helpless. Because I can’t do anything for him where he is. And I’m not used to feeling helpless about anything. If there’s a problem, I fix it. And I can’t fix this.” She made a gesture with her hands, nearly tipping the cone, and Ella hummed sympathetically as she sighed. “It’s been two months, and sometimes it still doesn’t feel… real. Like I’m moving through a dream. Or in a movie, watching _me.”_

“Well, what kind of movie we talking about here? Is it more _Casablanca?_ Or _The Spy Who Loved Me?”_ she shamelessly waggled her brows.

“Ella,” the tried for her sternest mom-look, normally an infallible defence, but today it withered under scrutiny and finally she threw it all in. “I don’t know. I don’t even know! Isn’t that crazy? Of course it’s crazy. And we had a moment – well, it was a lot more than a moment – and I told him how I felt and then… Then he was just gone. Because he had to. _Because it was his job._ And… what am I supposed to do with that?!”

The lab tech’s normally large eyes were even wider, if that was possible. And she was regarding the other with a look that suggested the world as she saw it had just been blown wide open (Chloe did have some experience with this phenomenon after all). “Whoa.”

“Yeah. Whoa,” Chloe agreed.

Ella receded into her seat, focus pulled inwards as if visibly replaying the last minute over in her mind. “Hold up. Chloe. You – And Lucifer – Together. You hooked up, _and you never even told me!!_ Ay caramba, that’s like rule 101 of the Girlfriend Code, _come on!”_

“I thought the girlfriend code was we don’t talk about guys--”

 _“Except_ if that _guy_ is Lucifer _and_ You _finally hooking up!”_ She looked, for all intents and purposes like she might explode with the revelation. “How could you hold out on me!”

Chloe sighed and took a swipe where her ice cream that had begun to melt.

A litany in mostly spanish spilled from the other’s mouth and she caught only a few words here and there before it finally merged back into english. _“Dios mío, todos estos años…_ literally years of will-they-won’t-they side-stepping and ignoring the torrents of attraction even my blind tía abuela could’ve seen, like some bad prime-time rom-com procedural... _And then_ the two of you decide to make it a thing and not tell any of us? Clo...how could you do me this?”

Chloe waited it out across the table.

“And then – _he left!_ To do no less than answer the call of king & country, and oh, my heart… and you’ve been going through it all alone! _Chicka!_ no wonder you have been so completely out of it, keeping all of this to yourself! You know I am always there to talk or cry it over a box of ice cream; you just say when, I bring the snacks, you pour your heart out, we talk into wee hours about all your hopes and dreams… Because, when he comes back… Oh, my God… When he comes back, the two are you are going to be _on_ each other like white on rice, _you know what I’m talking about…!_ and then can we talk about those beautiful little Deckerstar babies you are going make, and then there’s – oh, would there be a wedding, or maybe you just elope…”

Finally Ella ran out of breath, or maybe the sugar had begun to crash. Across from her Chloe began eating her cone. “Maybe that was a bit of large reaction on my part,” she said.

The other shrugged. Then her phone buzzed. She glanced down to see the message from Dan and her expression cleared instantly. “There’s been a shooting at the mission. Let’s go.”

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

When they pulled up, the coroner had just arrived. Dan was waiting for them at his car. “I had to,” he said grimly. “He’d already killed one of the staff and clipped another...”

“It’s okay,” Chloe touched his arm, concern bright in her eyes. “Who was he?”

“Mark Davis; boyfriend of one late Miranda Cole. Arrived here strung out and packing, demanding retribution for Miranda and started shooting up the place. We were upstairs talking to a supervisor when it happened. There wasn’t anything else I could do.”

She squeezed his arm again, and moved to where the body was being loaded. He looked older than Miranda, but he was junkie-thin and covered with tattoos. The shot had caught him cleanly in the chest, and he’d died instantly. Whatever charges he had brought to level against the establishment had died with him, and in death he looked almost peaceful. Except for the blood-spatter, which ballistics told her wasn’t even his own. His eyes were still staring, now unseeing, torment etched in the creasing of his brow.

The rattle of a gurney being rolled into the building had her turning; to extracted the second body, the staff worker, she recalled. She cast another look to Mark Davis, a thought catching in her peripherals about whether he’d go to heaven or hell; from what she understood, it had a lot to do with how you felt about the life you’d lived and the decisions you’d made: if you felt guilty, that guilt dragged you down. She wasn’t sure it was entirely a fair system, but she was quick to learn nothing in life was fair. For instance, the combination of loaded chilidogs, ice cream, churros and fries, which had seemed so idyllic at an earlier time were now being called into question. She straightened, waving the coroner on.

She surveyed the scene, working it over in her mind while she recalled Dan’s initial report. The Revival Mission was a converted storefront, wide front windows looking into open space where the bi-weekly prayer meetings were held. The building opened to a side alley, and that doubled as the entrance to the shelter where Ms. Cole had stayed. Around the back, she knew from the notes, they fed the homeless out of a modest kitchen, with administrative and other offices on the top floor. Davis had entered from the front and started shooting, clipping the first victim there, taking out the staff member in the long hallway leading to the kitchen. He’d tried to get into the shelter, but it was double-doored and someone from the inside had locked it. That lead him back to the alley where Dan and dropped him while still firing at the windows upstairs.

She let out a whoosh of breath, turning to find Dan still slouched against his car. His ride-along, Bruce Palmer, was giving his statement to a fellow officer now, just as he’d done before they’d arrived.

It struck her how in an instant everything could change; life was precarious at best. Even under the hot LA sun she felt chilled and wrapped her arms around herself.

“Detective Espinoza, I wanted to personally thank you,” another voice distracted her. A man in his mid-30s, dark haired and wearing a crisp button-down made his way past the caution tape to shake Dan’s hand. “You did God’s work here today; on behalf of the mission, I want to thank you.”

“Uh, just doing my job,” Dan shrugged. “Lucky to be in the right place at the right time.”

“The Lord works in many mysterious ways,” the other pumped him. “Please, allow me to introduce myself – Derry Mathieson; I’m the regional director for the organization. If there’s anything you need from us, you call me. Here’s my card. It’s a terrible thing that has happened here today, and God willing, it is on us all to see the wrongdoers and transgressors of the world brought to justice.”

“Well, more on us,” Chloe interjected firmly. “We deal with justice.”

Mr. Mathieson turned. “You misunderstand me. The Lord’s justice can be brought to everyone, for it is through the Bible we are brought to heed. That’s why we hold our sermons here, so that the Lord my speak to everyone, even the lowest among us. Do you abide by the Lord, miss…?”

“Detective,” she didn’t take the offered hand, “Detective Decker. And we’re also the ones who’ll be asking the questions.”

He sunk both hands into his pockets and frowned slightly. “Whatever you need. Although I’m afraid there are limits to what can be done now; Debbie is dead; may she find peace. As for the delinquent who pulled the trigger, his justice has already been dealt.”

“He has a name,” she countered evenly. “Mark Davis; did you know him? We understand he was the boyfriend of Miranda Cole, whose body was found earlier this week?”

Mathieson snorted. “Boyfriend; that’s generous. Miranda wasn’t exactly… exclusive. We try to get these women off the streets, but sometimes the lure of temptation is too much. Miranda kept… falling.”

“Some people have a hard time finding the strength to hold themselves up,” she she agreed carefully. “But if she and Mark weren’t as close as you imply, why’d he feel like he had to shoot up the place?”

“How should I know? Drugs? Jealousy? Choose your sin, there’s a sinner made for every one; and some, like Miranda Cole, indulged them all.”

“Are you regularly this involved with people who come through the shelter? As a director, I’d just expect the one-on-ones with ‘wrongdoers and transgressors’ to be above your job description.”

His eyes steeled at her. “We are all here to do the Lord’s work. All of us - from the Reverend down to the lady who bakes muffins for the homeless. Nobody is above God’s work or God’s laws. _No one.”_

“They’re just questions,” Dan deflected. “We have to ask them.”

The clatter of the gurney returning from the building drew attention. Ella trailed behind it, talking with the forensic team member who’d worked the scene. “There was a truly good, Godly woman,” he murmured. “You’ll have to excuse me if I can’t really get upset over a junkie’s death when the Debbies of the world still have to suffer them. Thank you again, Detective Espinoza, for what you did today. It provides hope that there are still those out there working for the greater good.”

He strode away to where the other members of his staff were stationed. Dan stuck the calling card into his notebook without offering it more than a glance. “So this day’s been a bit of a bust. Did you get anything useful from the Minister? Chloe?”

She shook her head quickly, both to clear it and affirm the negative. “He remembered us.”

“Not surprised; Lucifer’s kind of a hard guy to forget.”

Her arms crept onto her sleeves again. “That he is.”

“Let’s see what Ella thinks,” he suggested for distraction, and she followed when he nudged her forward.

“Hey guys,” Ella perked. “Nice marksmanship by the way, Dan. Wish I could say the same for poor Ms. Jones; nothing neat about this one – narrow hallway, nowhere to go, maybe she tried to talk to him, maybe she froze. And so our perp over there takes her out point blank – _BLAMO!_ – and brains go EVERYWHERE. It’s a Pollock painting all up in that hallway now, but like done with spaghetti sauce…”

She was fine, entirely and altogether fine, until Ella had to go and bring food into the picture. The graphics slid across her mind's eye and her stomach suddenly had the jump on her and to the victor went the spoils. Or in this case, the alley floor beside the dumpsters, which was as far as she made it.

Ella had stopped mid-parenthesis, her mouth hanging until she formed it into a silent question. “Maybe I have been overdoing it on the expositions today...”

She looked over at Dan, who looked at her. “I’m willing to bet you had very little to do with this,” he said. They looked back at Chloe.

“Should we…?”

“Nope,” he shook his head firmly. “Quick, she’s turning; act normal.”

“Gee thanks, ‘cause _now I can’t do that!”_ she hissed.

Chloe returned looking slightly paler, but her focus was so rigidly honed she didn’t address the awkwardness on the part of her coworkers. “Okay. So now we have two dead girls, a dead staffer and a dead boyfriend, one creepy old minister and a supervisor who seems to be really invested in his work. How does this all fit together?”

“If it’s an inside job, it could be anyone in the organization,” Dan concluded dryly.

“That info packet said the congregation is only about three hundred people. That’s… not so many,” put in Ella, a little too enthusiastically.

“Well, let’s see if we can narrow that down. First things, let’s see about pulling a list of every staff person and congregant and see if we have any overlap between the two girls.”

“I don’t know if any judge will sign off on that based on what we’ve got now,” Dan frowned.

“Then let’s start with the staff here,” the Detective was already moving to her vehicle. “And cross-check those against the Donaghue case. And see if we get lucky. Ella, coming?”

“I’m getting into the car! Like I normally do!” she chirruped and dove into the seat.

Chloe looked to Dan for an explanation. Dan feinted innocence. Chloe narrowed her eyes at him. “Alright then; I guess we’ll see you back at the station.”

Dan didn’t let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding until the car pulled away. Then he turned back to the building still wrapped in its yellow tape like a sloppy bandage and wished he had a better idea about how to put it all back together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know -- we didn't have any Lucifer POV in this chapter, but it was already so long! So I'll post up the next chapter mid-week just to make up for it <3 
> 
> There was a bit of theology thrown around in this chapter and I hope I have not inadvertently insulted anyone's sense of faith; I figured if you're already into Lucifer, you're probably pretty cool with having those theological explorations, and there'll be a few more going forward; we _do_ meet up with God eventually, after all. 
> 
> Also, Dan's a lot smarter than he gets credit for.


	3. Hell Spawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early chapter, as promised! Because we all need a little more Hell in our lives <3 And also Passion Flakies.

Hell is often described as a place of nightmares.

The truth is, nightmares have nothing on Hell.

Hell has things-that-go-bump-in-the-night, that make even the steeliest of demon-lords shut their holds up tight, when the grey skies keel from its subset of ash into deeper charcoal and the lesser creatures of the realm scurry for cover. In between the Columns of Damned the shadows draw long fingers before the muddy Palace torches sends them scuttling; even the shadows are wise to hide, for in the nights of Hell the deepest dark is the coldness that skulks its way in to feast on the left-unguarded heart.

Of course, unless you are the King of Hell, and then you have nothing to fear.

Then Hell could do its worse and you’d laugh in its face, for what worse could be done then what had already come to pass, those judgments previously levied and exacted? Small victories, claimed as they were won.

As for the Creatures of the Night… annoyances, really; affronts to be weathered like the nightly serenades of wails and caterwauling, abrasions to be shaken out again and again, but always feel like a little sand was left to chafe. Bloody nuisances they were, but certainly nothing to be _feared._

He did close the doors to his balcony at night, but this was more on account of the ash.

But Lucifer woke with a jolt when the sound of the metal frame scraping against stone sill broke him into consciousness.

_“Light,”_ he rasped groggily and the lamps ignited, bringing the room into focus. He lay on his back, the sheet a tangled mess around him in evidence to some half-remembered dream. His heartbeat levelled as he listened and there was only the quiet crackling of the lights. _Figures,_ he smirked deprecatingly. He’d gone to bed that night with every intention of drowning himself in Elysian wine and forgotten to latch the doors. The roving hinges squealed like banshee and he stilled it with a gesture, the latch catching and clicking into place as it sealed.

With that done he relaxed back into his pillows and was about to gutter the lights. It was still many hours from what Hell mockingly considered dawn (never tell him that Hell didn’t have a malicious sense of humour) and sleep was better than being left alone with his thoughts or in the raucous company of demons. Once, he would have desired nothing else than to cavort the night away in all manner of demons and debauchery, but somehow that did not appeal to him as of late; the effort to rouse the spirit seemed too great, and he wondered briefly if this is what humans felt like getting old, then banished the thought. His hand brushed muzzily at the night stand to secure a bottle with a bit of booze clouding the bottom when a sound somewhere nearby made him freeze.

The bottle smashed on the stone floor. Fingers closed instead around the black metal blade he kept close and in the same motion he was upright, crouched and vigilant, red flickering in his eyes as he scanned the room again.

The sound burbled, low and ominous. “Bloody Hell, it’s in here,” he winced, tossing the blade into his right hand as he backed against the tall slab headboard. _“Pangenie–”_

He’d barely got the word out when the door burst open, the demon clad in banded leather but bared forearms and feathered legs. Her sai were unsheathed, daring the threat to give her leave to use to them. “My Lor–”

_“Shut the door!”_ he hissed.

She moved without question, her guard never lowering as she turned again to appraise the scene, her eyes finding the state of her King with sharp alarm. “What happened?”

The noise gave answer, and her wings shot out with such velocity they propelled her clear off the floor. _“Where is it?!”_ her eyes were wild.

“How should I know?!” he clipped. “I wasn’t going to get down on my hands and knees and start calling for it!”

She made it across the room in two feathered bounds and landed on the wide bed beside him. She pulled her wings away so that she could lean her back to him, her eyes sweeping and her sai following the movement. “Let me kill it,” she pressed.

He pushed her slightly out of his circle of space, pulling the sheet around himself into a sort of make-shift toga. “You will not.”

“Lucifer!” she groaned. “For Hell’s sake, some days I really don’t understand–” and then she literally shrieked as movement ruffled across the bottom of the bedspread, loosing a sai at it before it disappeared back beneath. “It’s under the bed,” she squeaked, breath rasping as she mourned the loss of a blade. “You will flee now – out the balcony; I will hold it off, my Lord.”

“And broadcast to the rest of Hell that I was chased out of my own bedchambers by some vile, pint-sized cambion? Might as well formally abdicate the throne while I’m out there. ”

“Well, what do you want me to do?! Since I can’t just _kill_ it,” she snarled, as if it were his fault.

He huffed. “This is why you’re the Praetorian and I’m the handsome Devil.”

She made face at him before setting her expression grim. “When I find the demons who’s crotch fruit this is…” she had begun inching down the length of the mattress, her short, feathered tail which was usually hidden under armour flagging into view (wasn’t a bad look, he decided, if you liked that sort of thing). She reached the end of the bed and retrieved the blade so quickly the coverlet fluttered with the motion. Lucifer, who had crept carefully after, nearly got a mouthful of tail. “Freeze!” she hissed.“It’s moving.”

He did, pivoting slightly to avoid her more feathered assets as she’d recoiled nearly into his lap. Pan continued to scowl, her clawed toes digging into the mattress and head tilting at any inclination of sound. She bristled against him. He hesitated, then wound the sheet at his waist even tighter. Mostly it was to protect his handsome devil bits from the threat of demonling, since they liked to snatch at things that dangled (which was also another very good reason for not abdicating the bed). And also because he was actively ignoring the clamouring from certain bits about how very long since there’d been another body in his bed, he was not going to start thinking about that.

By luck, it was Pan to the rescue. “I have a plan.”

_“Finally!_ I’ve seen Hell Loops go on longer...”

“You’re gonna be the bait,” she grinned wickedly.

“I beg your pardon–”

“Well, we can always call one of the guards in–”

“And have them in on this? Never!”

“Then would you prefer to catch it?”

“Bait it is.”

“Perfect. Here’s what you’ll do: fly to the end of the room and distract it, then, when it makes for you, I’ll take it out from behind.”

“Right,” he frowned, scooting back so he had enough room to unfurl his wings. “Using the King of Hell as demon bait. This is going to look just terrible on your resumé, you know.”

“You won’t fire me,” she smiled sweetly. “I know your dirty, little secret.”

“Says the demon with feathers up her bum.”

He landed beside the ebony wardrobe, throwing the superfluous length of bed sheet over his shoulder. His hell-blade was now free to toss from hand to hand, twirling it nervously – no wait, the Devil didn’t get nervous, and not especially on account of something like this – in _anticipation;_ that was it. He narrowed his eyes at the bed with anticipation, catching the glint of twin amber smouldering beneath. There it was.

“Come on,” he purred, using his most alluring voice, thick with bees and honey, “come now, you hideous little beast; get your filthy, sticky self out from underneath that bed before I decide to–”

_“Here it comes!!”_ Pan's exclamation distracted him, and motion went scuttling over the floor.

Then the demon-child was bounding across the open room, a mess of shaggy, unkempt hair and tattered rags, smeared with every substance imaginable. It was horrifying. Absolutely and abjectly horrifying. It’s mouth was open, and it kept making that noise – that relentless, unintelligible high-pitched chatter that never seemed to end, no matter how much you threatened or begged, and worse – oh, by the cockles of Hell, _of course_ it was worse – it kept coming straight at him, and its arms were up, its sticky hands outstretched and open wide–

Lucifer shrieked.

The moment after that Pan tackled it from behind, scooping it into the coverlet as she rolled. “GOTCHA!” she crowed, flushed and triumphant while hoisting the squirming lump above her head. Her gaze returned to her King.

He was standing frozen, arms raised in a defensive stance. When he appraised that the threat was gone, he lowered them, trying a few different positions before deciding to rest them on his hips. “Well done, Pan,” he said.

“My King,” she dipped her head in a flaunting bow, “he who so boldly drove down the Rebellion of Belphegor, who subdued that most ancient and fearsome Beast of Kur, he who makes Hell itself tremble when the mood suits him… incapacitated by a single, squalling, demon child.”

“It has – very pointy teeth... and sticky fingers!” he explained with indignance.

“I won’t tell anyone you shriek like an Archeronian ground squirrel.”

“Seems to me there was a great deal of squealing on your part too.”

“Hmm. The Lord of Hell had me squealing in his bed; yeah, going to to do _loads_ for my reputation, that,” she positively rolled her eyes at him.

The gesture sparked something fleeting, wistful, of another place and of sticky, chocolate-covered fingers...

Then Pan shook the makeshift sack at him and the demon-spawn inside fought like a bagged cat. He jumped out of his reverie and back a safe distance, namely out of arm’s reach. “I will dispose of it. Gently,” she added, as a concession, and he nodded mutely as she excused herself with a firm slamming of his door.

Lucifer let out the breath he’d been holding, thudding his back against it. He shuddered, chest racking, eyes to the ceiling. “Just so You know, of all Your ghastly, terrible ideas You’ve come up with over the multitude of millennia, this – _this_ – is probably the worse.”

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

There were all kinds of cases in the world.

There were the cases that came together with the appropriate amount of prodding, conforming to a tidy package and turning over in just a number days; and there were ones that were stubborn, requiring gruelling investigation and careful weeks of planning before gaining a break. Then there were the ones that fell together in the most serendipitous sort of way while she was busy tying up loose ends.

The later seemed to happened a lot more when Lucifer was around. She would never tell him, because it would go to his head and she’d never hear the end of it, but he had actually gotten quite good at the police work. And when he was here, he had a way of peeling back the layers of the world for her that made her better at her job, too.

And that was was even before his whole devil-reveal, back when she thought him an eccentric playboy nightclub owner, hanging around a police precinct to sate some crazy vigilante justice complex he had going, probably because of unresolved issues from his youth.

Yes, those were simpler times.

Now she was hunched over her desk with its multitude of files, and the best she had to show for herself was a doodle that kind of looked like hippopotamus, if you squinted just right. And her partner was in Hell, literally. She still had no idea what to do about that, besides pretending everything was fine by day, and researching increasingly convoluted anthologies by night. Then this morning Lieutenant Ryce had called her into his office to remind her why the department recommended its officers work in pairs, and if there was anyone she’d considered being paired with. They both left that meeting disgruntled.

The case against the doomsday church was currently in a holding pattern and had been relegated to a corner of her desk. It didn’t sit well there, but LA didn’t wait for one murder to be wrapped up before the next landed on her desk.

_Male, black, unidentified;_ body found with three bullet holes to the chest. Suspected gang related, but no priors on behalf the victim, and no missing persons report coming forward.

_Male, id’d as George Auster, 53;_ had a disagreement with his brother, ended up dead from a blow to the head. Gary Auster, 49, the suspect, currently in custody as of this morning.

_Female, id’d as Angie Carlotto,30;_ victim of domestic violence by her estranged husband, Paul Sandor; Sandor had given them the slip and had been last seen at a convenience store two days go; she’d give it another day and then she’d tell Maze.

And the files went on. Case after case, victim after victim needing their stories told and justice served, and she served them all as best she could. Because if not her, then who? There were days it was hard, days it broke her heart, and still she believed it was where she needed to be. Just like down in Hell she envisioned Lucifer, residing over the demon hoards and seeing that the worst evil of the world received its due, because he believed–

“Chloe,” spoke a familiar, soothing voice.

Except that it grated against something still too raw for her to ignore effectively. “Amenadiel,” she acknowledged without looking up from her work.

“I dropped in to have lunch with Dan, but he’s still out right now,” he explained. “I’m going to give Improve another try; Linda says it’s healthy to have hobbies outside the home.”

She almost asked how Linda was doing, if Charlie was sleeping well, what exactly had he done now that prompted Linda’s insistence he get a hobby, but those feeling tumbled too closely with another that skirted the inside of her chest. Instead she said, “Dan should be back any minute now.”

The angel nodded carefully. “I understand how you’re feeling.”

Now she looked up. He was standing in front her desk, his thumbs resting causally in his pockets, for the First of the Angels and Warrior of God was always insanely chill. And right now, that just irritated the crap out of her. “I doubt it,” she minced, grabbing another file.

“We miss him too; if there were another way…”

“Yup, ’cause you just know it, it’s ‘God’s Ineffable Plan’ that he rule Hell for time immemorial, because someone’s gotta do it; may as well be him, taking it for the whole team, I guess…”

Amenadiel frowned. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Do I? Do I _really?”_ she levelled at him. “Because I know He never talks to you. That you and Lucifer have little clue as to _what_ His plan really is. And from the way I see it, you are more than happy to agree with this... _ludicrousy_ … because on some level, _just l_ ike Lucifer, you still believe he deserves to be where he is!”

If she’d noticed how high her voice had risen, or that the humdrum of the precinct had died down around them, she didn’t react, on her feet now and leaning over her desk. Her voice was cold and virulent. “With family like this, _no wonder he’d rather be in Hell!”_

The angel stood as if he were the one suddenly frozen in time. Then Ella came skidding between them, brandishing an armful of Passion Flakies in her wake.

“Heya, Amenadiel! Long time no see! How’s the little chip off the ol’ block doing? Have a Flakie!” she tossed a pastry at him as she snaked fearlessly around the desk. “Chloe, will you look at the time, girl, we are late for our 11:47 meeting!” She took the Detective by the sleeve, firmly, responding to her protests by leveraging two pastries at her. “Off to the lab we go! So sorry Amen, I’m going to have to catch up with you next time, say ‘hi’ to Linda for me!” and she tossed him another pastry by way of apology.

Into the lab she funnelled them and shut the door behind her. Chloe shrugged out her grasp, moving away as the other turned to shut the blinds. “The _nerve_ of him.. coming in here and… _assuming_ he knows how I’m feeling, as if we’re going through remotely the same kind of thing!” she began to pace, furiously working the pastry wrapper between her fingers.

“Yeah, totally uncool for him to empathize like that, the bastard,” Ella deadpanned, side-stepping out of her way.

“And he... totally has it in his power to actually do something, but he won’t! He just won’t!” The package finally burst, the crumbs raining as she motioned. “Then looks at me like _I’m_ being unreasonable.”

“No way.”

“Yes way! And maybe, I don’t understand everything. Actually, I _know_ I don’t, how can I? Nobody in that damn family will give me a straight answer about anything – Lucifer included! But that’s not even the point. Because the point of the matter is… oh my goodness, these are amazing,” she sunk into the flakey pink and white confectionery with an involuntary moan.

“Yeah they are,” Ella grinned, and carefully pulled up a stool beside her, now that she’d stopped pacing. “My little brother in Detroit gets them from Canada. I only break them out in emergencies.”

Chloe chewed slowly and contemplatively. “Do you think I overreacted?”

She hummed, weighing it over. “It was a big reaction. Whether it was an overreaction…”

She huffed, a short grasp at a laugh, but it wouldn’t fool anyone. “What is wrong with me.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Ella reached across the table and squeezed her arm. “You’re just dealing with a lot. It’s normal to have off days.”

“Days,” she scoffed. “I haven’t slept well in weeks, so I’m exhausted all the time. Then I’ve been snippy with people, and they start thinking I’m crazy. Last week – my downstairs neighbour, Mrs. Landon – she's now convinced I’m one of those crazy neighbourhood-watch vigilantes, because I lost it on her for the way she kept leaving her recycling bin peeking out into the walkway. By like an inch or two. That’s it. She runs now when she sees me coming. And I’m pretty sure I was ready to kill Dan over pudding.”

“Stress will do that to you,” Ella pressed another Flakie into her hand and unwrapped it without a word. “Stress makes you do crazy things. Messes with your sleep, your head, makes you wig-out, stress eat–”

“This is not stress eating,” Chloe snapped between bites, fingers steeling around the pastry.

“Wasn’t going to take it from you,” the other backed up just slightly. “But, duly noted. Then either you’ve also been skipping on meals, and you _know_ that’s bad for you, or you’re pregnant, in which case you gotta _lot_ more ‘splaining to do.”

“Ella!” she nearly choked on the mouthful and coughed out the words. “Of course I’m not pregnant!” And then her expression hung in place, head tilting to the side like it did while she worked over a complex case problem in her mind. “Huh.” She lowered the pastry, a sudden unsettling in her stomach.

Ella had stilled like a deer in headlights. Then she raised a finger. “Wait there.”

The lab tech was off her seat and rummaging through one of the cupboards while Chloe fished out her phone, scrolling through the apps. Then Ella was back in her field of view, a small white box extended between her hands. “Why do you have…?”

“Pregnancy tests? Oh, the lab stocks them, you’d be surprised what you can use them for,” and she nudged the box forward again, as the other still hadn’t reached for it. She nudged it again.

Finally her fingers came forward and closed over the cardboard; she bobbed her head. “Okay.”

She rose without ceremony and tucked it inside her blazer, Ella holding the door as she slipped quietly outside. “I’ll be waiting right here,” Ella said, continuing to hold of the door as if to physically prevent herself from following after. “So, you know where to find me. Right here. Waiting patiently, because I am. Patient. That's what they say, _'that girl Ella, she's the epitome of patience'_ … yep. No need to hurry back… Wait, you are coming back, right?” she called suddenly as if gripped by a stabbing afterthought, but by this point the Detective was already out of sight.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

It shouldn’t be possible.

She ran the dates in her head. She counted them again. Even if she ignored the fact that she was late – like, _weeks_ late at this point, but that just happened sometimes when she was stressed? – it didn’t make sense, like, from a biological standpoint.

But the small blue cross hairs were clearly displayed even in the terrible stall lighting and suggested otherwise.

Unless maybe the test was defective. Because it shouldn’t be possible.

Well, it shouldn’t be _humanly_ possible… except she wasn’t exactly dealing with human probabilities here, now was she?

No, she wasn’t. And of all the ridiculous situations she had imagined in her life, _standing in a washroom stall and contemplating the half-life of celestial spermatozoa_ had never been one of them. Unbelievable.

At that point she actually laughed, her head lolling back against the wall which suddenly brought the speckled ceiling tiles into view, spreading like the vastness of space beyond her.

There were days when she caught herself feeling so very, very tiny in the grand scheme of things – and knowing there was a Grand Scheme – or at least a Scheme(TM), if she could believe Lucifer on that particular point – well, she could accept it was normal to feel in over her head some days. Linda had said as much, back when they were talking.

But what she was feeling now… the very act of _knowing,_ that somewhere up there (was it even really _up?_ geographically speaking) there was a God, the same God who had willed Creation into being, and with Goddess brought forth a multitude of Angels, one of them a son He would eventually cast away; who would one day take leave of Hell, come to LA, and open a night club; where in all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she’d walk into his. And nothing would ever be the same again.

Her hand hovered, then came to rest on her abdomen, that spot, right beneath her navel where life began.

There were moments that divided life; like her life before her father had died, and life afterwards. Life before Tixie had be born, and life after that. Life before she’d met Lucifer, and her life now.

And now…

It came like waves crashing over her head and stealing her breath, leaving her racked and gasping, for here she was in the thick and alone, and it was overwhelming. Because how was _she,_ ordinary Chloe Decker with all the sensible brown shoes, who had never wanted anything from life except for the benefit of those around her, who until a year ago didn’t even know such thing as Gods and Angels existed; how was she even equipped to handle something like this?

And what did this mean, for her, for Trixie – for her next thoughts were of that precocious dark-eyed daughter who was her everything in the world, and about how her life could change, and what it would mean for _her_. Because she didn’t know. Because she was just some tired, single mom, work-worn and dealing with everything the best she could, which still felt these days like a loosing battle – what more could she do? How would she provide for them everything they needed? _Could_ she? What kind of life was that going to be? Was that fair to them? Would she just fail them too?

But tugging on the hem of doubt was a the seductive ghost of _want,_ to want for things, to cling to dreams, no matter how whimsical and insubstantial, however unlikely they were to come true... she couldn’t help but want them... And how selfish was that of her to want a for a dream when it could bring reality crashing down on everyone around her? How could she do that to all of them? And how could she _not_ want, not dream?

Her fingers had splayed, a soothing, protective motion, and she held it, feeling the warmth spreading as she breathed.

It was that fragile thread of hope that dared to thrive under her fingers, the seed that cracks through pavement and finds even in adversity a way to grow. Hope ballasts, an anchor in a turbulent sea. For when Pandora’s Box brought Hope into the world, mankind had from that day forth a thing so simple and so profound it defied even the frivolous whim of gods.

Hope was such a dangerous thing.

“Chloe?” the voice entered the washroom with a question, almost apologetically. “You’ve been in here a really long time…”

Of course Ella couldn’t contain herself to waiting in the lab and had to… oh, she’d been in here for forty minutes. Chloe slipped her phone back into her pocket, and with a reaffirming breath, dumped the stick and packaging into the sanitary bin and exited the stall. She stalked past the short, unwavering presence without a word on her way to the sinks and let the sound of rushing water fill the silence.

“So…” Ella casually leaned against the wall and set the row of dryers in motion. She shuffled awkwardly out of the way as Chloe crossed over to them. “You have any... news…?”

“Oh, yes. Well, I’m pregnant. Definitely pregnant,” she shook her hands the rest of the way dry.

The other clasped her hands to her face, doing everything she could to keep from blurting out whatever was bubbling at the surface, so much so she was actually vibrating. At last she swallowed the most of it and said calmly enough, “And how are we feeling about this? Like, on a scale of one to ten, ten being a _‘yaaaay’_ and one being _‘no-waaaay’_ –” little hand gestures accompanied the points.

“Five.”

“That’s fair. Totally fair,” she nodded easily. She waited a beat. “So you and…?”

She turned, brow raised, the wide brown eyes fixed on her expectantly. With a sigh she nodded.

Ella finally exploded. “Oh my God – _you GUYS!_ You crazy kids! I’m going to cry, no, no I’m not – I’m going to hug you – wait, _can_ I hug you? Is that okay? ’Cause I totally respect the belly and no-touchy-the-belly and oh, God, can I touch the belly?!”

A headache had begun to inch its way outward, probably because she’d eaten the equivalent of sugar-encrusted jam-and-icing sandwiches for lunch, and bless Ella, but did she ever shriek. “Let’s just stick to the hugging for now–” and the wind was nearly knocked out of her with the enthusiasm. At the same time, it was actually kind of nice, and before long she was hugging her back.

“It’s going to be fine,” Ella assured, reining in her excitement with modulating success as she squeezed. “Once he finds out, he’ll be back here and–”

“I’m not sure I’m telling him.”

“What.” She leaned way back, holding her at arm’s length. “What are we talking about here?”

Her gaze had drifted to a point beyond the row of rectangular mirrors, her expression far away and unreadable. “I don’t know if I can tell him. As I said, it’s nearly impossible to get a message out to him, and besides…he’s doing really important work where he’s at; _really_ important. For... _the world._ It’s more important than…I can’t… distract him with this.” She gestured lightly, as if trying to come across as nonchalant but her eyes were mirthless.

Ella stared up at her, the expression on her own face creased in contemplation. At last she did the most logical thing, and pulled her back into a hug. “Chloe; you know the thing about you and Lucifer that made it work, despite all those silly, superficial differences you had... It’s because you both cared so much. About the world. About other people. And doing your job the best you could, so world could be that kind of _good place_ , for everybody. The two of you lit it up every single day. Because you’re both so amazing. Not just _what_ you do, but _who_ you are.

“What you both do is really important, but not only for the world. So, you gotta do what you feel is right for you, but hear me out: give him a the chance to to decide what’s important to him, too. You might be surprised how things work out.”

If she heard the sniffle, she didn’t react, just let the hug run its course; the world would be better for it. Because, they were _all_ trying to make the world better, and she, Ella Lopez, was determined to do her part one hug at a time.

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

“‘Sup, Decker.”

“Sorry I’m late!” she spilled the folders over the kitchen island with a thump, wincing with apologies. “I should have called, I meant to, but somehow lost track of time and by then–”

Maze did appreciate a good grovelling, but stopped her before it turned into that mushy-feely stuff and ruined the moment. “You’re just lucky your kid’s awesome,” she pursed, retrieving her knives from the fruit bowl.

“Yes, she is,” Chloe sighed. “And thank you for watching her.”

“Whatever,” the demon shrugged. She leaned over the the island to peek at the stack of folders. “Anything good?”

“Not exactly the words I would use to describe a murder,” she pulled them back into a pile.

“Right; all boring, then,” she sheathed the knives. “Guess I’ll head to LUX; you should come next time Trixie’s with Dan.”

“Don’t think I’ll be doing that again for a _long_ time...”

“Suit yourself. Not my fault you can’t hold your iced tea.”

“It was a Long Island iced tea, and in my defence, I’m not convinced it wasn’t mostly tequila.” She opened the garbage to toss her styrofoam cup, then paused to retrieve the dinner plates and load them wordlessly into the dishwasher. “Not that I don’t appreciate what you did–”

The slick _shrick_ of a knife unsheathing cut her off. “If you tell _anyone_ I held your hair…” Maze was coiled like a cat, fierce and dangerous; the other held up her hands in the universal sign of deference, and the karabits slowly returned to her sides. “Good then. I’ll see myself out.”

She waited until the demon was almost at the door before she turned. “You don’t have to, you know.” She began slowly, like a purveyor revealing its wears to a flighty and discriminating customer. “Your name’s still on the lease. Your rent check went through _again_ this month. If you ever wanted to… you know…”

_“Do not_ get mushy on me, Decker!” her shoulder drooped in exasperation. But she didn’t retreat any further, considering the door handle with new-found fascination. “I’ll think about it. But right now Charlie stopped sleeping through the night again and I don’t know what’s more glorious - his wailing at 3am, or Linda and Amenadiel. It’s _so_ beautiful.”

“You do you,” Chloe agreed as the door clicked shut behind her.

There had been days, months after learning the truth, that she’d found herself at odds with the reality she now lived in. Believing Maze was a demon was not one of those, even if it had slammed her with uncomfortable feelings at the beginning.

She noticed light flicker beneath the door to Trixie’s room and made her way over, softly listening before she slid open the door. “You still up, Monkey? It’s really late.”

“Just one more chapter?” came the implore.

She sunk down on the bed as a head emerged from under the covers, book and flashlight following. “Are you almost finished, or just starting?”

“Maybe somewhere in the middle?” she grinned hopefully.

“I believe that’s what bookmarks were invented for.” She took the flashlight she was handed as Trixie rummaged on the side table. Finding the tasselled marker, she set the book down and sunk into her pillows with a yawn. Chloe pulled the covers snug and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight, Monkey.”

“Can you sit with me, for just a bit longer?” one eye peeked at her from beneath the duvet.

This kid knew when she had her, but tonight she was more than willing to oblige. She eased off her shoes as Trixie scooted over, and then rolled so that she lay with her arm scooped over her child. Trixie yawned again, wiggling happily into the embrace and was probably asleep in under five minutes. Chloe lay there much longer, listening to her breath, simply being present in the moment.

Her child. Her children. Her family. They were together and they were whole. She had to be there for them, be present for them, no matter how much it felt like a piece of her soul was missing and she was broken without it.

And still – there was _no way_ she could abandon a friend when they were in need, even when everyone else had given up, not when that need was so perilously grave.

Lucifer needed her. He did, didn’t he?

Or was that just another dream she was desperate enough to believe?

Dreams were like ashes, abundant but insubstantial, and the ground of Hell was strewn with them where each had come to rest.


	4. Interstitial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More case-fic (it's almost like these people have jobs or something!) but we do drop in on Hell. Also some of that mild-language that was warned about.

_“Surprise!”_

She almost dropped the coffee she was holding, the folders in her other hand clamped against her chest. A droopy-eared green… goblin?... doll was thrust gleefully into view. “Ella…good morning. What is this….?” All the questions were left dangling.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know who it is!” Ella curtailed with dismay.

Chloe concentrated, running through every large-eared green character that came to mind. It probably wasn’t a goblin, not a gremlin, maybe a tree elf…?

“You really don’t know...” Now the disappointment in the air was palpable. Ella waited another few beats before finally supplying the information with a huff. “It’s Baby Yoda! You know! From _The Mandalorian?”_ she trailed hopefully.

She took the leap. “Star Wars…?”

“You _do_ know it!” the lab tech’s face blossomed into every expression of joy. She squeezed the small toy to her cheek, cooing as she booped it on the tiny nose. “Isn’t he just adorable?! A girl in our D&D group crochets them, and I had to get you one; you know, for the––” she gestured pointedly with her eyes.

By this point Chloe had managed to sort everything onto her desk, with a quick look around the room to ensure no one was following their conversation. “Ella, what did we talk about.”

“That there’d be no talking about… _things,”_ she concluded stoically. “There was nothing said about not buying things _for it.”_

“Ella,” she tried to look stern, but her expression had melted and she knew it.

“She also makes blankets,” the other pressed at the opening. “They’re SO cute! But I didn’t know if you have a theme picked out yet, or colours….?”

“Morning, ladies,” Dan came in with his coffee clutched in his hands like a lifeline, but he still noticed the figure in Ella’s hand straight away. “Hey, is that Baby Yoda? Way cool, did you make that?”

“This? Oh yeah, no – I bought it for Chloe – because she’s such a _huge_ Mandalorian fan!” she thrust the toy forward and Chloe only barely managed to catch it, ungracefully grappling it to her chest.

“Really?” Dan turned to his ex-wife, clearly even in his under-caffeinated state was not buying into the conversation.

“I... think it’s really cute, Dan,” she said, as if that explained everything.

Dan glanced between her and Ella, then shrugged, deciding it was too early for any of this, and returned his focus to his cup as he made for his desk.

“You should probably tell him,” Ella nodded. “I’m pretty sure he already knows anyhow.”

Chloe looked up from the doll with alarm. “Wait, how?”

But Ella was already making her way back to the lab, singing something modern and pop-y that Chloe didn’t recognize. She sighed, her gaze returning to the little green and tan doll in her hands.

It wasn’t like she could keep this a secret forever; at some point it was going to get pretty obvious. For now, she bade her time, resisting the soft edge of change as much as she could.

There were still aspects of this new reality she was coming to terms with, details she needed to work out for herself and wasn’t sure she was there yet – let alone ready to share the experience with other people. So the only person in-the-know was Ella, only because she’d been there at the time. She wasn’t ready to speak with Linda, even though of all people Linda was probably the most equipped to talk about it (after what happened with Amenadiel, Chloe felt it was best to offer a bit of distance, at least for the time being). Maze she figured wouldn’t care either way, once she stopped laughing about it. And Dan kept giving her these curious looks, which made her wonder if what Ella said was true; wouldn’t _that_ be ironic, because he certainly hadn’t been observant the first around... And Ella… Ella was simply good; she provided half gentle encouragement, half simple acknowledgement, was always ready with an ear and a Passion Flakie and Chloe appreciated the cheerful banter. She needed to stay positive, and there really wasn’t a better person to decompress with when the last few weeks had been a blur.

A doctor’s appointment confirmed what she already knew, prompting some adjustments to her daily routines; she tried not to feel guilty about how very little attention she’d paid to what (if?) she’d been eating the weeks preceding, or what else she might have consumed. The decaf coffee however might very well end her. Was she really this tired with Trixie? Maybe she’d wiped that from her memory. Then again, she was definitely not this old with Trixie, and, there went her self-esteem for the morning.

She sunk into her chair, momentarily shutting her eyes and blotting out the familiar noises of the station. Her hand came to rest on her stomach reflexively now, a gesture that both refocused and grounded her. She had this. Of course she did.

Opening eyes she found the soft knitted toy in her hand fixed on her with its unwavering gaze. “I know what I’m doing,” she told it. The little green yoda said nothing, staring back at her with wide, endlessly black eyes.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

The morning passed into afternoon with very little excitement. That afternoon she and Dan followed up with witnesses to a patio party turned rodeo when someone brought a goat to the banquet. As if that in itself weren’t bad enough, by the time the animal had eaten its way through the buffet spread, some of the guys had gotten the idea to challenge it to a head-butting match; that put several people into the hospital (the goat was fine) but the real tragedy of the night turned out to be a drowning in one of the pools. At the moment it was looking more and more like a hapless accident, and throughout the interviews she found her attention wandering; mostly, to thoughts of her absent partner and what he would have had to say about the case, namely the goat. He always seemed to take personal offence to them, on principal.

After that was a convenience store shooting which had probably begun as an attempted robbery but upgraded into a shoot-out between wannabes in a neighbourhood where everybody had a gun and a willingness to use it. When it was over two people were pronounced dead, both bystanders. Cases like that sucked.

With that done, they pulled over to grab food before attending their final checks for the day, and enjoyed a momentary retreat from summer sun. A deluge of heat and rolled into the city that week and stayed put; the air was thick and stifling, the wind blew hot, and a brief shower the day before only made it muggy. It seemed to be making the city even more disputatious than normal. “Hot as hell out there,” Dan remarked, but she didn’t say anything, thoughts already miles away. Dan, for his part, hadn’t seemed to notice, or if he did, didn’t pay it mind; he kept up a running commentary for the both of them – on the cases, on his plans for him and Trixie when school was out, about how he hoped to take his surfing to the next level before the fall. While she didn’t contribute much, she felt at ease with the comfortable chatter, and was thankful for that.

Their next destination turned out to be the mobile & gadget shop where a clerk was shot the night before; Dan was heading that case. It came in over the radio that officers were responding to another disturbance at the location and had apprehended a suspect. They were nearby and drove straight there, pulling alongside the cruiser parked outside the rundown strip. Dan suspected the shop was a laundering front by one of the local gangs, and she tentatively agreed with that assessment; at the very least, it was the perfect place to pick up your newest burner phone and exchange cash for arbitrarily priced goods.

The sun was just brushing the tops of the skyline, painting the city in long orange fingers of light. Chimes jingled in the door when they pushed through, stepping over the broken plate glass to find Officers Bench and Romano with one grumpy shop owner, Jonas Coletti, who was known to his clientele as Cotes. “Mr. Coletti, nice to see you again,” Dan greeted.

If Cotes looked any more like a coyote who’s plans had been dashed by a wily roadrunner he’d have been wearing an ACME t-shirt. Scraggly dark hair tufted on either side of his head, and his eyes darted sidelong above his petulantly pouting lip. “I told you everything I knew yesterday! Tell your thugs this is a mistake! Please, people see cops in my store, that’s not good for business.”

“But people getting shot up doesn’t faze them?” he leaned against the counter. “What happened?” he turned to the men in blue.

Bench – whose real name was Owen Poole, but was rumoured to have broken a locker room bench with his head while at the Academy – towered a good six feet beside their burbling perp; beside him Romano was even taller.

“Suspect was apprehended throwing bricks through the window.”

“It’s my own store!” he sputtered.

“Not the best way to go about remodelling,” she quipped, staying a short distance behind and letting Dan engage him. Her eyes trailed around the small, shoe-box of a space. The shop’s one security camera had been damaged by vandals the day before the incident, and that seemed like too much of a coincidences.

“Look, it’s not a good neighbourhood,” Cotes was struggling. He wasn’t cuffed, but Romano stood with a hand like a lead weight on the back of his chair; it was enough to keep him in place. “Bad things happen all the time,” he shrugged. “What’s another broken window?”

“Right. A broken window here, a smashed security cam there…”

“That wasn’t me! Come on, I was only after the insurance money… the robbers didn’t even have the decency to rob the place when they shot up Lenny; what’s that going to get me?”

“Hmm, maybe a night in jail for vandalism,” Dan glanced sidelong at the other officers. “For starters.”

Cotes paled, and he was already a pasty guy to begin with. “What?! No, I can’t go there!” he lamented. “You know what they’ll do to little guys like me in there!”

“Nothing was stolen?” Chloe spoke, still moving her eyes across the rows of phone cases and ear buds and hands-free devices.

“Hardly enough to make a claim. So that’s merch I’m out of! At least with a new window I could have gussied up the place–”

“Have you got a list of what was taken,” she steered the conversation, and Cotes finally nodded, his body language slumped.

“Yeah, it’s in the back. I can get it. You want to come with, or wait here?”

“Let’s go for walk,” Dan gestured towards the store room while Bench and Romano stepped aside. Cotes rose begrudgingly to his feet. They shuffled through the slatted opening behind the counter and into the narrow room beyond.

Chloe leaned against the glass cabinets, appreciating the air conditioning despite the racket the small over-the-door unit made, while the two uniforms broke into chilled banter about the game last night. They paid her little attention.

She might no longer be the pariah of the department like she’d been those years ago when Lucifer first tagged along, which he’d certainly had a hand in righting; he also had a hand in everything that followed after – the slow but sure winning over of her workmates to her partner’s devilish charms, one delectable, double-frosted donut at a time, while she worked to make a name for herself on the merits their dedication and skill. But even though things were quite amicable now, she still didn’t quite… fit in.

Maybe because on some level it was still very much an ol’ Boy’s Club at the LAPD and she just wasn’t a boy. Probably dating a Lieutenant who turned out to be the head of the criminal underworld hadn’t helped either.

Her lips pursed into a small frown. Well, thank goodness she was good at her job because her personal life choices were shoddy. Her thumbs ghosted along the edge of her abdomen while her hands rested at her belt.

Her head turned before the car pulled onto the street, an abstract awareness colouring the edges of the scene in increasing detail: the crunch of loose asphalt under tires, the quaver of the shaky muffler, faded blue paint glinting grey in the low-angled sun; the way the passenger sunk into his collared jacket, hand withdrawn as they glided around the cruiser and into view. Maybe they even locked eyes; his were blue. But before he moved she was reacting, hand flying to the weapon at her hip even as she threw herself to the ground. _“GUN!”_

Glass spiralled like spiderweb and broke, the bullets piercing through with little resistance. Bench and Romano were on the floor too, and for a moment there was only the sharp staccato of the gunfire overhead, until the squeal of tires dragged the assailant away.

She heard Dan shout her name from the back room, and adrenaline flooded her system as scrambled up, hands slicking down her sides to probe for injuries. Behind her the officers were moving too. “I’m fine, we’re clear!” she pushed herself to her feet, gave Romano a light nudge to the shoulder until he nodded receipt. Bench was already out the door, radio to his mouth and barking into the speaker.

“Clo!”

Dan was behind her, looking more spooked than she thought he should for veteran of the force. She brushed him off, still riding the adrenaline. “Where’s Cotes?”

They pushed through the swinging vinyl opening to find the small back office empty, the short hallway beyond flooding with light from the open door. “He couldn’t have gotten far.”

The backdoor opened to a service alley, strewn with discarded cardboard and refuse bins. The clatter of footfalls over packed gravel gave away Cote’s frantic passage, clattering into the bins as he scrambled headlong and finally ducking into an open driveway. The building beyond was a squat warehouse, and he leapt through the loading bay doors with grace that would have made any coyote proud, even skidding cartoonishly on the landing. “LAPD!” Dan announced to the startled shippers as they ascended the ramp and took in the dodgy storeroom before them.

 _Go left,_ Chloe indicated silently, already threading up the right-hand throughway, between the metal shelving that stacked from floor to ceiling. Lit by tubes sorely past their replacement date, the room hummed dimly as she made her entrance.

Movement flickered in her peripherals. “Cotes!” she called out. “This is starting to look a whole lot worse than vandalism, you know that. But it doesn’t have to go down like this.”

“I’m not going in!” the voice rang out seconds before shots fired. She saw him out of the corner of her eye, wild-eyed and spinning circles as he covered the area with the point of his gun. She crouched low, dropping from his view behind the shipping boxes. _Shit._ When had he grabbed a gun? Probably in the store room when Dan had been distracted. “You can’t take me!” he screeched, feet pounding down another aisle.

She knew where he was, his voice betraying his location as her fingers curved down around her own weapon. His foot falls were erratic as he shuffled, ducking and shifting between the stands, his gun still cocked and the sharp edge of his desperation bit the air. She could stay low, creep across the floor and be in his path before he move further down. Five more feet and she’d have him, and she’d…

…she’d be directly in his line of fire too.

In a moment everything could change, and now it did.

 _What was she doing?_ Running at a desperate man with a gun? That was a _stupid_ risk, was she insane?!

Her hand clamped against her abdomen, pressing as her breath suddenly went ragged, her skin feeling chilled an exposed. She pressed against the crate and heard it squeak, sounding so terribly loud to her ears while she pulled her knees in as if to make herself as small as possible. Her muscles – which had been screaming to run seconds earlier – clamped down tight, freezing her place.

Her breathing sounded loud so she put her focused on that, bringing it almost under control when Dan came barrelling around the corner. His eyes lit with alarm as he saw her on the ground. “Chloe – are you hit? I heard gunshots–”

She shook her head. Oh thank goodness, she could still do that!

“Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I–” her voice cracked. _I froze; I let him get away; I’m an idiot…_ all the possibilities tumbled through her head except for the one she landed on. “I’m pregnant.”

Dan didn’t blink, only nodded, giving her another once-over just to be sure. “Stay down, I’ve got this. Back-up’s almost here; you stay until we’re in the clear.”

Then he was on his feet again and moving off, and she was alone, the buzz of the fluorescent bulbs a constant and distant wail of sirens announcing that the cavalry had finally arrived.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

She was still sitting in the car when Dan emerged, weaving between the cruisers as he made his way over, opened the door and sat down beside her without a word.

Her fingers pressed between her brows, the afternoon’s scene playing over and over again in her head. “I messed up. I know that.”

Dan shook his head. “Just tell me, where the hell is Lucifer?"

She almost laughed. She wanted to, anything than the trembling that had never really left her chest. “I told you, it’s business–”

“He ran again, didn't he?” Dan turned suddenly, anger pinching his features. Anger was easier to fall into than anything else he was feeling, it was familiar and grounded him. “That _asshole!_ When I see him next, man, I'm going to pop him one right in that smug–”

“Dan…”

“I don’t care _who_ he is, doing this to you–”

“Dan–”

“–only a real sort of asshole just leaves–”

“Dan, I _didn't tell him.”_ It came out louder then she intended, her voice curt and eyes fixed on a point ahead.

He came to a rolling stop. “...Oh.”

They sat in silence for a long time, while outside the night flashed red and blue. Cotes had been apprehended a few blocks down, but the shooter was still at large. Yellow tape flapped in the muggy night breeze as the officers cleared the scene.

“It's complicated,” she finally sighed.

His fingers tapped against the centre console in the dense silence. “Okay,” he inhaled, curbing any other reaction back to a simmer beneath the surface. He turned to her, his expression subdued in the dim lighting as his eyes searched her face. Whatever he’d planned to say before died on his lips and he sighed. “You love him?”

“Yes.”

Dan nodded, slowly, as if resolve alone was shaping this new arrangement and it fell around them and into place. It was after another long pause that he spoke again. “I guess we’re all a little fucked up. And Lucifer… I mean, I'm not convinced the dude's not insane – because he clearly is… but... at least he's crazy in love with you, too.”

At some point tears had begun to run down her cheeks, but her expression was soft. “Thank you, Dan.”

“I'm still going to punch him when I see him,” Dan confirmed. “So that's happening.” He reached over to squeeze her shoulder. "When will you tell the Lieutenant?"

She let her head fall back against the headrest. “Not until I have to? I don't know. Last thing I want is to be stuck at a desk right now...”

“Okay. I get that. But...”

“Be more careful. Yeah, I know.”

He didn’t look entirely convinced, but he nodded. “And I'm here for you; you know that.”

She smiled. “I know.”

They sat in silence again, a content, comfortable silence, as outside the City of Angels revelled in the hot summer’s night.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

“We should invite Maze,” Trixie declared.

Chloe paused, wondering for a moment if in all the years of colliding views and never seeing eye to eye, had her feeling for her mother ever reached a point where she’d _want_ to subject her to that? On further reflection, she found that yes, yes she did. But out loud she said, “I’m not sure if Maze would really enjoy our little party; it’s going to be pretty quiet this year. She might already have other plans,” she suggested gently.

“Nope!” the ten-year-old grinned, wide enough to show the gap at the side of her mouth where her first baby molar had given way. “I already checked, and she’s free.”

“Hmm,” she hummed into her shopping list.

Trixie carried on unperturbed. “You know who else we should invite? Amenadiel and Linda and baby Charlie.”

“Do you, now.”

“I do. Charlie hasn’t had a Fourth-of-July party before, and Nana makes the best jello pies!”

“I don’t think Charlie is quite ready for jello pie yet.”

“And I miss Lucifer. I really wish he could come too.”

Chloe stopped mid-word, her pen scratching across the notepad. She looked up at her bright-eyed daughter and felt the squeeze in her chest involuntarily. “Me too,” she said softly.

“Do you think he knows we miss him?” her head was tilted, her nose scrunched as she chewed on the end of her pencil, a familiar gesture the Detective did herself about a hundred times a day. The list of party supplies she was tacking on was growing by the inch, the initial piece turned over and she’d begun to write on the back. “We should let him know we miss him. Again, just to make sure he knows.”

Chloe only nodded. Trixie had returned to the list, scribbling down _‘coconut juice, baby food, more chocolate cake, just in case’._ “How many times does chocolate cake appear on that list?” she turned her focus.

“Just three; you can’t have too much,” she said reasonably.

“You are probably right. And since you’re so clever, perhaps you can figure out how we’re going to get all this stuff to Grandma’s house.” She looked up from the list to the boxes of decorations they’d pulled from the storage closet, which Trixie had spent the day going through in a sprawling mess of red, white, and blue across the living room floor.

“I’ve got it worked out,” Trixie assure with a far too knowing nod of her head. “Dad’s still bringing the fireworks, right?”

“He wouldn’t miss it,” she affirmed. She’d already called Dan, in fact, and had asked him to show up early. _‘You want me to run interference on your mom,’_ she could practically hear his grinning over phone. _‘Maybe,’_ her response had been non-committal, but he’d easily agreed. He’d been doing that a lot lately, since the shoot-out with Cotes.

Trixie made the final marks on her list and handed it over. “Think we got enough?”

“I think we’re more than covered,” she agreed, as she read down the list, making additions to her own when needed. She stopped midway. “Cool ranch puffs?”

“Just in case,” Trixie had already bounding to feet, scooping up the end of an untangled streamer and letting it sail after her as she flounced through room.

Chloe added them to her list.

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

The Demons were having a party.

It was to mark the Solstice, which was _hilarious,_ since there was no sun in Hell.

The tradition had started eons ago, back when the walls between worlds were thin and the old pathways that led from one to the other wove tracks that entwined the realms together. In those early days creatures of the Realms passed freely through, when Faefolk mingled with Sons and Daughters of Man and myth breathed through the old forests of Middle Earth and Trees spoke a language everyone could understand. When even the Gates of Heaven had been open, gaping wide, and the marvels of universe spread in an expanding vista, brimmed with possibilities and inviting, and in that time even Gods and Angels danced through mortal realms. They had all been happy, then.

 _That_ was a bloody long time ago.

Before he’d come to Hell. Before everything had begun to unravel and come undone…

A cheer broke out somewhere in the melee and there was the clattering of heavy flagons being jostled and spilled as ale was served. An empty vessel went skidding across the floor and came to rest at his foot. He debated kicking it, to send it flying and away and maybe maiming one of these luddites in the process. But the effort was too vested, so he crossed his feet instead, sinking deeper into the uncomfortable shallow of his throne.

It wasn’t the High Throne that was perched above the Palace where only Angels roosted over the domain of Hell, no; this one sat directly below it, a thousand feet below in the middle of the Great Hall. Here is where the King held court over his subjects, where trials were heard and parishioners greeted, where emissaries from the neighbouring kingdoms paid tributes from the Duke and Duchesses to remain in the good graces of their King, and where parties, like this sprawling mess before him, played out in exuberant and excessive fashion.

It had been going on for days.

He could, in truth, end it any minute. A word, and he’d be left in glorious silence again. But he knew, grudgingly, that fear would only got you so far, and sometimes, indulgence took far less effort.

And once, not so long ago, the parties in Hell had been legendary. He’d seen to it. He’d hosted them. But that again was in the time Before, before Dromos’ bones were left to dangle like hollow chimes in the wind.

“My Lord!” a demon with hair like tangled weeds and wheat-straw dropped at his feet, her gaping expression exaggerated by the half of her face that was mostly missing. “Join us, my Lord; the Day of Feast is yet young, and we grow restless for want of your company!”

“This ‘Day of Feast’ has persisted for 42 earth days straight; the only thing still young about it at this point is any hope for a night’s recluse.”

Her hand splayed out, grasping at his knee and he debated kicking her, but like the vessel the intention languished and died as the demon beheld him with dark, beguiling eyes. Then her form began to shift, the glamour draping across her features like settling mist. “Your desires are ours, oh King; let me serve you, worship you, as a King is meant to be worshipped!”

His horror fixed as a face formed before his eyes, hair growing soft and strewn with gold, the demon’s features muting into familiar lines that traced tightly around his heart. “My King,” the voice, corrupted, spilled through unholy likened lips.

And then the blunt edge of a staff lodged into her shoulder, her expression returning to flesh and gore as she swirled on the attacker, but Pan’s unrelenting gaze drove her back alone. The blade she let loose landed silently, slaying the demon without so much as a whisper. “Dream-eaters,” she hissed, but her face was as pleased as she retrieved the blade, marking the precision of her kill, “never know when to call it a night.”

Lucifer straightened in his chair, his expression silent and seething. Pan wiped the blood from her short knife as she sheathed it, settling onto the wide throne’s armrest without a word. He’d never thank her, that was not the way. Around them the party continue without notice; it was hardly the first killing of the night. Pan herself didn’t care for parties; she was more the brooding type of demon who liked to rain on everyone’s fun; Hell hath all types of misery.

“That was _her_ likeness, was it not?” she said after some time had passed.

His jaw worked before he answered. “Likeness,” he spat. “A mockery, an abomination...” He rose from his seat, upsetting the Harpy without care, who fell into step behind him as they crossed the floor. Demon hoards parted for the King, especially when the embers burned in his eyes as they did tonight.

They passed through the long vaulted halls that sprawled like a gothic atrocity, the architecture of Hell growing in an organic explosion of colliding fractals. Some said the Palace marked the Heart of Hell, and while this was incorrect, the bell-shaped foundation that shot skyward into the steepled obelisk of the High Throne had stood since the Before Times, grown from the same carbon-faced rock that made up most of the fractured landscape. If architects had indeed designed the palace, they had take their intent with them to the grave; now Hell itself seemed content to fashion as it saw fit, and so it stood, a collision of geometric intricacy and chaotic organic form, erupting from the bleak landscape. It sprawled as much as it cloistered, intrigued as much as it disoriented, and was almost beautiful before one looked closely enough, a puzzle to be drawn into and only by solving did the viewer realized too late that they too were now damned.

They roved through the main foyer that stacked like jutted cubes to the stuttered stairs that spilled onto street level. Here the cobbled stones shone like black honeycombs as they snaked through the city columns and onward into the rest of Hell. The noise was dampened here, the party a ghostly echo the atmosphere distorted, every sound contorted into a leering, twisted memory of its former self. The ash would mute everything, given enough time.

She knew where he was headed and kept silent, duty allowing her continued presences as he had not yet ordered her away. They turned to were the buildings gave way to a labyrinth of snaking hallways and turned again, greeting the rows upon rows of repeating doors.

The Columns of the Damned were where the souls of Earth settled into Hell, where behind each door they lived their life again in an endless loop, like a tape stuck on repeat that would not progress, bound in a cycle of their sins. The irony here – and again, there was to be no denying Hell’s twisted sense of humour – was that the loops were each of their own making, and the doors to the chambers were unlocked. They could leave any time.

They did not.

Lucifer stopped at last by a familiar door. It was only then he hesitated, aware of Pan’s scrutiny still hounding at his side. “Go on, say it.”

“What? _‘Silly Lucifer, loops are for kids’?_ You’re the Lord of Hell, if you want to hang out in some human’s twisted hell loop, who am I to stop you?”

“Right,” he closed his hand on the handle.

“Although…”

He waited.

She mused. “You’ve been stealing into these doors like it’s become your own personal loop. And all for what? a glimpse? a point of reminiscence? And I don’t understand – you are the Lord of Hell, your power here is infinite; if there is something you want, _take it!_ None of this sulking around like some lurking rabisu at the door! This Detective of yours, she is still living, yes? Then, if you desire her, why not away to earth for a short respite and indulge her? Surely you trust _me_ enough to watch the Gates for a spell; and currently the realm is calm and the demons contented. And maybe when you get back you’ll be less…” she trailed, her hand tracing through the air.

“Less _what?”_ he dared her. Bad enough his Praetorian was suggesting he go to Earth for… a bloody _booty call,_ like he were some horny, lovesick teenager, she didn’t have to go on and insinuate that he was!

“I was going to say morose.”

“This is Hell; _everything_ is supposed to be morose.”

 _“I_ enjoy it.”

“You’re a demon! You enjoy vegemite on toast!”

She growled in exasperation, casting her gaze skyward with exaggeration.

“Don’t go expecting an interjection from _Him;_ he’s been silent on the matter of my insolence for millennia.”

“Lucifer,” she now regarded him, her amber eyes fixing him with heed. “You have always said to embrace desire in the pursuit of gratification and bliss; yet now you deny these all yourself. This is not the answer.”

“Then what is?” his voice levelled like the bottom of Hell. “What is the answer? Because the only one who knows will never tell, because this is all a game to Him, don’t you see? A long game... Heaven, Hell, Earth – they’re all cogs in the midst of His inenarrable plan, whatever the bloody hell that is! And it’s only constant is that I remain here –”

“Which never stopped you before.”

He stopped mid track, his anger sloughing from him and his demeanour deflated and still. “That was my choice.”

Her face was a question, the words on her lips but he brushed them off.

“To remain here. It was the only way I could…” his eyes bore forward into grey, of an endless nothingness reflected back. “And I didn’t do it for Him. I did it for _her._ To protect her. From… _everything.”_

Pan’s gaze was the mincing precision-hold of raptors, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t speak of how the Dromos’s name had become synonymous with the wrath of the King, and stayed on the lips of the dwellers as a warning to any who dared incite it. Or how the demons, in their own way, revelled in their King’s well-being, if only for their simple-minded truism that _‘life's more fun when the king's having fun, too’._ But these were not the matters her King was addressing, or more pointedly, did not address. Of what had transpired on the mortal realm during his last sojourn, of this mythic human, this _‘The Detective’_ which he was protecting, and the insidious threat he perceived he was protecting her from. Instead she relented, rolling back on her clawed toes as the ash began to fall.

“So, Hell it is, then; how long will you remain?”

“Until she forgets.”

And the door shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No offence meant to any of the fine connoisseurs of vegemite out there; there's no truly accounting for some people's taste \ (•◡•) /
> 
> And if you wanted to know, here's what Ella's Baby Yoda looked like:  
>   
> I feel like a missed a huge opportunity to doodle something here XD


	5. Point Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://photos.smugmug.com/photos/i-MFzk3Xh/0/360d2ef1/O/i-MFzk3Xh.jpg)

“Nana!” Trixie crowed, dropping her bags to go pounding up the veranda into Penelope Decker’s waiting arms.

“When did you get so tall!” she exclaimed, doting on her only grandchild with all the reckless abandonment her station allowed. “You’ll be taller than I am before the end of summer! And you are looking so grown up, and that face! Goodness, your mom should put you in pictures–”

“Mom,” came Chloe’s half-hearted protest from the car, where she was working the door closed with her hip, arms already bulging as she stopped to scoop at the dropped bags.

“I got this,” Dan swept in, retrieving the ones on the ground and relieving her of half the load she was already carrying. “Penelope! You are looking fantastic!” he hailed cheerfully. “Trix, go help your mom.”

“I’m good!” Chloe protested as Trixie came hurtling towards her. “Grab the decorations from the trunk!” Trixie veered off without changing speeds and she made it to the front steps before Dan accosted her again, taking the rest of the bags. Then her mother was wrapping her in a quick embrace, her usual gushing about her granddaughter giving way to how tiered she looked, and was she was working too much? because she definitely looked like she was working too much, _a mother knows things!_ By then Trixie had returned with the overflowing box of party decor and mercifully, Penelope was off to help her hang them.

She stood within the familiar front walkway, drinking in the relative quiet of the beach house. It had been home for a year, when she and Dan first split. That had been a challenge, but some of the memories here were good, too. Her fingers played with the pendant on her necklace, the lump of flattened metal, like a starburst, from the time she’d shot the man who claimed to be the Devil, before she knew the truth. Yet truth had been revealed that day, only neither of them had been ready to admit it.

“Pop’s in the fridge, beer’s in the cooler, ice cream in the freezer and the veggie platters just need to be assembled,” Dan emerged from back porch with a bag of ice. “I can take care of that, if you need to sit down…”

She shook her head, breaking from her reverie. “Nope, I’ve got that. Maybe check if Mom and Trixie need help–”

“We’re good!” came Trixie’s hoot as they carried the boxes to the back deck. “It’s gonna be a surprise!”

Chloe’s eyes narrowed slightly and Dan caught the look. “Sorry,” he came clean. “She got into one of the cakes after breakfast; coincidentally, “Cake Inspector” is a real occupation in a French pâtisserie. The more you know.”

She rolled her eyes at him and crossed over to the counter, washing her hands before setting to the task of artfully arranging carrot sticks and cherry tomatoes onto the platters. Then she grabbed a paring knife to separate the cauliflower into chunks, scanning the counters for the dip. She frowned. “Did I leave that yellow grocery bag in the car?”

“In the fridge,” was his reply, muffled deep in the retrieving of plastic patio wear from the back of the cupboard.

“And the one with the grapes– ouch!”

“You okay?” he popped up instantly.

“Barely a paper cut,” she sucked the offending digit, reaching for the bandaids. “Oh – found them,” and she took the grapes and plopped them alongside the strawberries.

“Hey, humans!” the door burst open, announcing their guests. “I was told there’d be cake. And I brought a gift for the host; it’s vodka.” Maze looked pleased with herself as she held up the king-sized bottle.

“That was very thoughtful of you,” Chloe acknowledged warmly.

The demon positively glowered. “I take it back.”

A step behind Linda trailed with a fussing baby boy propped against her shoulder, both hands currently in his mouth and still complaining loudly through them.

Maze turned, an almost nostalgic look on her face, the vodka instantly forgotten as it was thrust vaguely in Chloe's direction (which she caught, somehow). “Where’s my little wiggleworm?!” she cooed in the most un-demonic fashion. Linda gave up the child without protest, and the moment he was in the demon’s arms Charlie was quiet. “See? He just wanted his Auntie Maze,” she declared, still cooing, causing the kitchen’s occupants openly stare. “Of course you did! Because Auntie Maze is _awesome,_ yes she is! Let’s go get us some drinks.”

“Formula only,” Linda called after her, but it seemed mostly an afterthought. She turned to Dan and Chloe. “Maybe he’s teething. Or growing. Or something. I haven’t slept in a week at this point so I don’t really know.”

Chloe held up the vodka. “Drinking?”

“Yes, oh yes,” she nodded affirmatively as Amenadiel finally appeared at the door, along with all the travel packs and diaper bags and whatever else they’d deemed necessary to bring, which at a glance looked like everything.

“I’ll get started on that,” Dan took the bottle along with the newly-found tiki glasses in hand. “Mojita, right? And what can I get you?” he turned to Amenediel.

“I still have another load to bring in from the car,” he spoke apologetically, ducking back out the door.

Dan chuckled after him. “First baby problems,” he nudged Chloe, who gave him a look. He took the hint and went to pour the drinks.

“Chloe,” Linda finally focused her attention, drawing the other towards her. “How have you been doing? We’ve missed you.”

“Good,” she nodded firmly. “I’ve been good. And, well, you know me, work keeps me busy.”

“I’m glad to hear,” she took the news at face value, at least for now.

From the back they heard Trixie’s squealing upon discovering their guests’ arrival. “She’s already been into the cake,” Chloe said by way of apologizing. Maze had lowered Charlie down to her level and now both were making faces at him, which he thought was _fantastic,_ judging from the buoyant squeals exploding from his tiny body and causing both to erupt into peals of laughter.

“I’m staring into my future, aren’t I?” Linda surrendered with a sigh.

Beside her Chloe was stood watching too, and didn’t say a word.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

Hell, according to Dante, had many levels. It had a lot of other things that elevated Dante’s work into the category of Greatest Fanfiction Ever Written, but it was often in the absurdities that one discovered discombobulated nuggets of truth; Chloe wasn’t sure where she’d heard that one – it may have been an X-Files episode – but at the time she’d been willing to take any lead until proven unserviceable. She’d read the epic while doing her due diligence the first time around, and Lucifer hadn’t really clarified one way or another. So she wondered, in passing, gazing gravely at the spread before her, on which level was it reserved for parties like this: smiling brightly through the guise of festivities with her friends and family, perpetuating an idea that all was well in the world – because for all of them it was, it _really was_ – when her own truth was so stark and achingly different.

The truth was she was just tired. Tired of everything. Tired of smiling and telling people she was fine when she was not, except they wouldn’t like the truth any better so she continued to smile through gritted teeth. Tired of people asking after her partner with sympathy in their voice but pity in their eyes. Tired of all this pretending, this covering of explicit truths with smiles and metaphors, except that the alternative could be even worse, and at this point she was too exhausted to find out.

Not that it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle it. She was a professional who stood impassively before the worst of the city’s underbelly without any betrayal of emotion on her face; a party, she could manage. She simply kept her mom distracted; she chatted amicably with Amenadiel and entertained Linda with mundane tales about life and work. Maze, clearly disappointed by her unwillingness to sample the drinks she was mixing, was abated by the opportunity to present Trixie’s close-combat skills to someone new, under the pretense of self-defence; Penelope’s expression alone made the invite worth it.

And she kept herself busy, attending to everyone’s needs, questions relegated to pious inquiries of “would you like more veggie dip?” and, “here, let me refill your glass,” or the stalwart, “Trixie made the cookies, you _have_ to try them.” (The fact that they were out of a tube and the oven did most of the work was glossed over, the cookies properly acknowledged and eaten with gusto). However If Dan continued to ask whether she needed a break she might very well decide to break _him_ , because moving prevented her from becoming cornered, or the conversation sliding into areas she wasn’t prepared to follow. She caught Linda’s gaze once or twice, but the other didn’t press, as either a psychiatrist or a friend.

And there were _so many things_ she wanted to ask about; there was so much – about absolutely everything – she simply didn’t know.

How had worrying about life, the universe, and everything become her new normal?

She’d done more research, the same heavy books and yellowed tomes she’d gathered to learn about the nature of Hell had told her about the nephilim; what a rabbit hole that had been! She’d fallen down like Alice one dark night and hadn’t arrived on the other side the same person she’d been the day before. Although she was confused by the conflicting nature of the meaning: were nephilim meant as fallen angels, or the children born of fallen angels and human women? Either etymology seemed destined for doom. For there were many stories of such children, these warriors of great renown who fought epically in battles of the Before Times when wars spilled over from other Realms; equally present was their precarious place in these tales – neither of heaven nor of earth, and shunned by both. Some stories even said they retreated away to Hell, and became the first of the Demons. The stories squeezed her chest and she had to stop reading. That _couldn’t_ be a future Charlie would one day suffer, or the fate of this small flicker of life she carried in her womb.

She took comfort in the knowledge that both Lucifer and Amendiel had seemed genuinely surprised about Charlie, according to Linda, both in his existence and singularity of his kind. So that contradicted the stories in the text. And Lucifer’s favourite pass time, when not distracted by narcotics or whichever other carnal indulgence had just walked by, was to rant about how very wrong the tales about those biblical histories were, incessantly, passionately, and at length. Thus the panic had subdued but the worry lingered, yet she couldn’t bring herself ask; she held her silence like a monk, as if what she carried was revered and sacrosanct, and she alone entrusted to its keeping.

Maybe she still felt a little betrayed, that they in their passivity had betrayed her and Lucifer both, and this divulgence would only betray him all over again. Or perhaps she worried about what they might do with the information? Amenadiel often took it upon himself to act on matters in the way he saw fit with little regard for differing opinions, and the last thing she wanted was him flying down to Hell with the news. The reason, she rationalized, was because he shouldn’t get to pick and choose between the messages she wanted relayed. That wasn’t fair; especially not to Lucifer. And because she didn’t want him to come back simply because he thought she needed him or some gallant and chivalrous sense of duty... and that brushed against something uncomfortable that had settled in her heart, and she quickly closed herself to further scrutiny.

There was much that afternoon that would pass unsaid.

Her partner had left 12 weeks, 5 days ago.

That also presented another problem.

After losing a battle involving a mirror and some choice words about the guy who invented button holes, she’d given up on her favourite dark grey pants the week before. She wasn’t exactly showing yet, nobody was going to question a few new wardrobe choices – today it was yoga pants and a loose shirt that billowed at the hips – but she was acutely aware of the changes in her body; the fullness that had settled around her waistline, at her breasts, a sense of presence that was both familiar and unexpectedly novel. During the day-to-day she maintained a state of wilful ignorance on the matter; Ella and Dan held her confidence, and whatever opinion they had, if it differed, they didn’t say. It was only when night fell and she was surrounded by the refuge of darkness did she permit herself to _feel_ anything at all, her hand resting on her stomach and fingers tracing whorls over the soft skin, of the deep, infinite sadness and indefinite joy mingling down her cheeks.

She woke with a start when the afghan dropped gently over her shoulders. She was at the kitchen table, dinner napkins half-folded in front of her and she looked up to see her mother bustling nearby. “I must have dozed off,” she suppressed a yawn. “Where is everyone?”

Penelope uncorked another bottle, pouring the rosé into a tall-stemmed flute. “Maze took Trixie and Charlie out for ice cream, Dan's with Linda and Amenadiel on the back deck. Here,” she offered the glass.

“No thanks, I'm good,” Chloe declined, lightly fiddling with bandage on her finger.

Her mother shrugged and took a sip herself. “You're working too hard.”

“You’ve already mentioned that once today; it's been a long week, that's all.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she hummed. “Long week. And you're not drinking.”

Chloe frowned, spinning the loose band-aid in place.

“And Dan's been hovering…”

“Dan has not–” she hastily replayed the afternoon in her head, the sinking feeling moving down her limbs as it settled into her stomach. “He has kind of been hovering,” she conceded, her voice flat. Her mother continued to leverage her with look and she levelled one back. “It’s not what you think.”

“What? What do I think?” Penelope shrugged. “I'm sure if there was something you wanted to tell me, you would.” She said nothing further and began into her next task, conceding far too easily for the subject to be left alone – at least for the time being. “Anyway, you should get up, get some sunshine, dinner's still a ways away so why don't you go chat with the guests? I can finish up in here.”

She knew better than to question an exit when she was given one. Collecting the afghan as she rose, folding it into a neat rectangle across the back of the couch. The loose bandage finally pulled away and she scooped it up with a quick inspection to the finger.

It was completely healed.

She stopped in her tracks and held the digit under critique, but there was only clean, pink skin, no trace of the cut that she’d inflicted hours before. _Alright then._ That was unexpected. And certainly not a pregnancy symptom she’d experienced with Trixie. She shoved the band-aid into her sweater pocket and strode out to the deck to ignore this new development.

The deck had been hung with an explosion of red and blue streamers and spangled with glitzy, homemade silver stars. Linda was sitting below on the glider swing and quickly patted the space beside her.

“Come!” she beckoned with her with the cup, still half-full and sloshing. “The boys went to go talk about their cars; Amenadiel doesn’t know _anything_ about cars,” she whispered as if it were a matter of great confidentiality; clearly this was not the first time her glass had been emptied. “If there is _any_ unspoken truth about the nature of Angels, it’s their capacity to pontificate profoundly about things they actually know very, _very_ little about.”

Chloe found herself chuckling in spite of herself and sunk down beside her into the swing with a gentle rock of momentum.

“But it’s not _really_ unspoken,” Linda continued, leaning into her, “because they’ll go on about _that_ too; or maybe that’s just _them..._ maybe they have some less chatty siblings, I don’t know. Raziel, perhaps? That’s supposed to be the Angel of Secrets; I’ll have to ask some time. I’m babbling now, aren’t I? Yes I am. Mama is cutting off her mojitos,” she declared objectively. “Tell me, Clo – how do you survive the baby years?”

“They’re intense,” she nodded sympathetically. “But then they’re over, so quickly.”

“I know, rationally, I do,” she sighed. “It’s just been a very sleepless couple weeks. Apparently that’s normal in the third month. _Transitioning,_ they call it: the realization that there’s a whole, wide world all around them, and it blows their little minds wide open!” She made sound effects, her hands expanding like fireworks.

“So Charlie’s been developing... like a regular baby?” Chloe asked sidelong. “No wings yet?”

“No wings,” she smiled. “So much for all that bubble wrap. And he seems to be; he’s hitting all his milestones right on schedule. The pediatrician says he’s especially alert for his age, but he probably says that to all the new moms.”

“That’s good to know,” Chloe nodded evenly. “I mean, that you’re having that kind of experience. And nothing too…” she trailed off.

“Celestial-y? Yeah, so far.”

“But your pregnancy was normal too, right? or were there little... _celestial-y_ symptoms?”

“Completely normal,” she bottomed her glass, “unless an insatiable craving for German meat pies could be considered out of the ordinary. But enough about me. How about you? How are you really doing?”

Barely a minute in and she was into the corner, and Linda suddenly seemed a whole lot less intoxicated too. Her expression betrayed her annoyance and beside her Linda softened, her next words gentle and sincere. “I’m not going to say I understand how you’re feeling, and I’m not going to tell you anything you’re feeling is wrong. That wouldn’t be fair. I’m also not going to tell you ‘it’ll get better’ or any sort of patronizing crap like that. I’m just here to hear you, if you want to talk. And if you don’t…” she held up her empty glass. “Whoa, maybe it’s time I switched to water; gotta make it all the way to the fireworks tonight.”

Chloe reached for the cooler and fished out two water bottles from amongst the beer. She handed one to Linda and uncapped the other for herself.

“Cheers?” Linda offered up a sheepish grin.

They clunked bottles.

They sat in quiet meditation of the afternoon, the sun beginning to dip down towards the ocean, the cry of gulls and the jovial ruckus of the beach. “Thirteen weeks,” said Chloe softly.

The other turned, not following, but wanting to.

“I – am thirteen weeks,” she returned, her smile brittle but expectant.

Linda stared in bemusement at first. Realization began to creep across her features like the blush of sunset, flushing her cheeks with colour that had nothing to do with the rum, her grin widening and completely overriding her surprise. Professionalism be damned, she started giggling like a giddy schoolgirl too, and it was contagious, the worry lines melting from her face as Chloe found herself laughing along side. “What’s so funny?” she finally gasped.

“I have _so much more_ bubble wrap!” Linda squawked. “Should you want some.”

She doubled over with laughter, her forehead braced on the other’s shoulder.

“You can always rain-check,” said Linda, taking full advantage of her position. “Another hack is mosquito netting; they make them fitted for cribs, and it weirds the nannies out _waaaay_ less than the alternatives.”

“Oh,” she straighten abruptly, as if the notion had never fully arisen before.

“Yep. Almost as bad as trying to explain to them about Maze, but you would know about that one. When are you due?”

“Ah,” Chloe dashed a point with her finger. “Well. As it has been previously established, nothing he has a hand in can exist _except_ in the most over-the-top and grandiose way possible… so, it’s New Year’s Day.”

“Charlie was a week early,” she shrugged offhandedly. “There’s always Christmas.”

The hoot of laughter was spontaneous. “Oh God, we’d never hear the end of that! _‘I am Lucifer Morningstar and no spawn of mine will ever share a birthday with that charlatan hipster wannabe!’”_ her voice lilted in perfect facsimile. “If he could, he’d forbid it, and even so he’d still try, and then I’d have to shoot him again, and that will make for a very awkward holiday story. If he were there.”

The silence was as encompassing as it was abrupt. Linda reached over to take her hand within her own and her next words resonated with conviction. “I may know very little about the will of God or nature of Angels, despite the fact that I’m living with one and gave birth to God’s first grandkid… but, I _do_ know Lucifer Morningstar. And while he is impulsive, and mercurial, and apt to fly into rash and questionable decisions with little forethought or follow-through… his heart is in the right place, and that heart has always held you in its highest regard. You are his point of connection in this messy universe we all live in. His lodestar. He can’t help but be drawn back to you.”

She wanted to believe.

Vitally, desperately, with want. She wanted the words to erase the gnawing inside her chest, she wanted to return to the moment before when she was laughing – really laughing – like she hadn’t done in months, but the niggling worry found roots, doubts running fierce and deep.

 _How long?_ she twitched to throw it back in her face. For what was time to immortals? What was a few months, a few years, a human lifespan, to someone who had seen the earth cool and the first stars light up the space? _‘You’ll forget about this place, forget about me’_ she’d cried, and he’d looked at her with such gentle sorrow that the next words had spilled from her lips in desperation, the only thing she could give him which his immortal span had not. And it had still not been enough.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket then, and she fished it out. A text from Trixie, a garbled string of letters. She frowned for a moment, then wrote back: _Charlie chewing on your phone again?_

“I don’t know why it has to be so hard though,” Linda sighed, sinking back into the swing and causing them both to rock. “If Heaven and Hell had a points system, we’d definitely be racking up a card full.”

“It’s a crummy system, whatever it is,” she ruefully agreed.

“There’s always room for change.”

“Do you really think, that something so… _huge…_ as that, can change?”

She shrugged. “I can’t imagine why not. Everything is always changing; Heaven and Hell are extensions of this world, or vice versa… why wouldn’t they be any different?”

Chloe nodded slowly, and there it was, that tiny blossoming of hope again. She closed her eyes, letting it flow through the same channels where doubt still lingered, though it seemed quieter now. She felt the sunshine on her face, those long, lingering rays as the sun grew heavy in the sky and broke beneath the awning. Her consciousness expanded, feeling herself as a part of this world - a small, insignificant spec in the vast ocean of the world, but a part of it nonetheless. And it was on these rare moments like this that she could imagine _they_ shared a space within this circle of existence, still connected and not so insurmountably far away.

Then her consciousness ran up against something that broke through the bubble like a spike and jolted her back to the earthly plane. Beside her Linda looked up in surprise when she scrambled to her feet, her eyes tracking for something she couldn’t see. “Trixie,” the word fell to ground where it shattered, but she was already running. _“Trixie!”_

She found them at the end of the boardwalk where the broad planks gave way to shifting sand.

Here the air hummed, vibrating on an invisible spectrum that crackled static and prickled her skin when she breached its border. The boards were broken, pooling earth spilled in golden rivets splattered black and red around the epicentre where Trixie sat, Maze’s body cradled against her lap.

“Trixie!” she sunk down, suddenly doubtful her legs could have carried her a step further. She grasped her daughter, but the child didn’t react to her touch, her small shoulders stiff and shaking. There was blood on her face, and for a brief second relief flooded when she realized it wasn’t hers, until her gaze slipped down to the woman bleeding out at her knees. _“Maze…”_

Her hands found the seeping wound at her chest and she compressed it, instinctively, her daughter’s eyes finally lighting with the realization she was no longer on her own.

“They took Charlie,” she blurted. “Then they hurt Maze!”

“Who?” Amenadiel's shadow burst over them both. Dan dropped down beside them too, some piece of fabric grasped and pressed between her fingers and against the wound. _“Who took Charlie?”_ his voice boomed overhead.

In the panic Chloe felt her spine hackle, her arms instinctively wrapping around her child as if she could protect her, for whatever small comfort that could bring. Trixie sunk against her chest, even as her eyes brimmed with tears. “Don’t shout at her,” she hissed, and it must have impressed on something because he tried to still, even in the midst of his own panic.

“Was it demons?” his voice stayed even, though his teeth were bared.

Chloe gaped at him, but Trixie shook her head, her eyes falling on Maze again where her father’s hand pressed against the wound at her heart, the other trailing her lifeline for a pulse. Her eyes brimmed again, features scrunching with confusion and grief.

“They were angels,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(


	6. Splinter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You _knew_ I had to post Chapter 6 on 06/06, right?

_**15 minutes earlier…** _

“What can I get you ladies?” the server beamed, his apron advertising 26 flavours of ice cream although the truck looked suspiciously modest. There was a wide array of rainbow sprinkles and other toppings balanced on the ledge however, which offered a fair compromise.

“Do you even _have_ gelato?” Trixie squinted at the menu, just to be sure.

“Say what now?”

“Don’t make her repeat herself,” Maze narrowed her eyes.

His smile faltered, gaze drifting from her face, to the baby strapped to chest, to the large sheathed knives clearly hanging at her sides. In the snugli Charlie squealed, then returned to chewing on the lip of his carrier. “Uh, no gelato. But we have pistachio; is that kind of the same?”

_“Mangiacake,”_ Tixie rolled her eyes. “I’ll have the triple fudge caramel twist, please.”

“And you?” he returned to the woman almost reluctantly.

“Same. But just a vanilla for the baby.”

He eyed the baby. “Will that be in a cone or a cup?”

“Surprise us.”

“Oh, and I want sprinkles!” piped the girl.

“Lots of sprinkles,” Maze agreed.

When the twists were done the man dumped two full scoops of confectionery onto each cone, handing the vanilla over with a cup as if the transaction couldn’t be completed fast enough.

“Thank you!” Trixie bounced all the way down the boardwalk towards the beach.

Maze followed behind, holding her cone to the side so not to drip directly onto Charlie’s head as she bit in. “Okay, you were right; these are pretty good. Not sure if they’re better than sex though.”

Tixie grinned at the unabashed use of grown-up talk; Maze never censored herself around her, unlike most adults. Maze also never treated her like a little kid, and she looked at the world in a completely different way than most people. Okay, _sometimes_ she was a little mean, and she wasn’t really good at handling her feelings either, but didn’t _everyone_ struggle once in a while? Trixie knew she was trying, and that sometimes just needed a bit of help. “I’m not sure Charlie’s old enough to eat ice cream,” she pointed out. “I looked in his mouth earlier and he still doesn’t have any teeth.”

“That’s disturbing,” Maze shuddered. “You human spawn are so gross.”

Just to prove the point, Trixie made a face, her mouth full of ice cream. Maze made an even better one, and they went back and forth until they were both spurting ice cream and laughing so hard they had to stop for breath. Charlie squealed along with glee.

That was until the light shuddered, as if a low plane had briefly cast a shadow across the sun.

Maze froze, her stance instantly at alert, knives unsheathing with a crisp _shink_ sound while the ice cream fell to the ground discarded. “Get behind me,” she growled, turning to face the three winged figures who stood at the edge of the sand.

“Mazikeen,” one spoke, and when he did the ground shook.

“Michael,” she snarled back.

Trixie peeked around the demon’s side, eyes wide. Around them the air had stilled, but this was more than a lack of breeze – it was an absence of movement, the very molecules seemed to freeze in place, as if a fishbowl had dropped around them and suspended the normal rhythm of the world. She could still see the beach, see the waves roll in and the birds skim across its surface, but she couldn’t hear them, and the people looked muted and dull. There was a prickling on her skin, like electricity. Her attention shifted when they spoke.

The one who’d made the ground tremble was advancing forwards. He was tall, lean, his features clean and herculean, as if he had been carved from marble warmed to life. He wore a flowing white tunic, sort of like she’d seen on Roman frescoes, with polished armour plating his chest in gold. His eyes were blue and piercing, his hair a sweep of golden curls that shone like a crown, like the sun, and light reflected in his sweeping, golden wings.

On either side stood another angel (because of course they were angels; this wasn’t the part that surprised her). The angel on his left was not as tall; he was fine and beautiful, his skin warm and sun-blessed and dark hair falling at his shoulders. His wings were dark brown but ribboned with bands of colour like a bird’s, except no bird she’d seen had such vivid shades of myrtle green and egyptian blue. He was dressed similarly but in subdued colours, without armour. To the other side the third angel toward nearly as tall as the first, his shoulders broad and hair the colour of cinnabar, a froth of beard around his face like a mane. His features were set in a deep grimace, his red-shaded wings braced and ready, armour trembling in anticipation.

Michael spoke again, and this time his voice resonated with a sound like rain through the mountains. “This is not what I was expecting; it seems the Grace of God is with us always. Do you remember what I said to you the last time we spoke?”

“Fuck you,” Maze sneered.

“Ariel,” Michael placated the other with a word, and the red-haired angel fell back again, lowering his staff to the ground with a shallow thud. “Pleasant as always, I see. You and my brother were so well suited, yet, it seems in the end he abandoned you after all. Hmm,” he considered the situation, eyes resting first on the baby, then to the girl, then coming to rest on the demon again.

“What do you _want,”_ her voice cut low and to the point.

“This is a most peculiar arrangement we find ourselves here today. You have something that doesn’t belong to you, and I am going to take it. And I believe that how this goes down rests entirely on you. I’m not usually in concordance with allowing demons a choice, but I suppose these are unusual times.” He straightened, his wings sweeping out with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Give me the baby.”

Maze glanced from one to the next, her stance never wavering. At her chest Charlie burbled an unhappy cooing noise, tears brimming in his wide brown eyes. In a smooth motion she tossed both knives into her left hand and reached behind her back with the right. Slowly and with measured grace she unlatched the snugli and slipped it over her head. “Here,” she said to Trixie, “better hold him. There’s something I need to take care of.”

Trixie grasped Charlie with both hands, hugging the snugli to her chest like a life ring.

“Hmm,” Michael smiled again. “Not smart, Maze. Not unexpected either.”

Then Ariel lunged.

He flew at Maze with his staff arced high, swinging down towards the demon in his decent. She glided along the edge of the pole with her karambits, sparks flying where the metals rasped together. When he made to landed she swept his feet out from under him, leaping forward to clear the scoop of his wings. Laughter tailed her as she groused him. “Just how I like my angels – big, slow, and _dumb!”_ And he caught her across the chest with the back of his wing and she felt ribs crack, but not before her knife ran a bright red streak through the rusty feathers. Ariel roared, barrelling forward while she was still on the ground. She struck him twice more, pawing shots, before bracing off the ground to land him squarely in the chest. He stumbled back only slightly, but she on her feet again, knifes drawn and daring.

“Enough with this toying,” Ariel’s voice was a rumbling brogue of thunder. “I will end this, Demon!”

“Who’s stopping you?" Maze donned a jack-o-lantern grin. "Oh right – _me!”_

The angel propelled forward again, and this time his staff moved in rapid succession, meeting the edge of her blades blow for blow. He was immeasurably stronger, and each impact forced her backwards until she broke away, coiling low and springing through the slats of his wings, long red ribbons running across her body in their wake. Ariel struck from aside, and at last one caught her low on the thigh and she spilled forward, tucking herself to absorb the fall. She was on her feet again the moment after, blinking the blood and dirt from her eyes.

“Maze,” Trixie’s voice wavered in her ear.

“Remember what I taught you,” Maze’s eyes never left their mark, but she knew when Trixie nodded. “When you see a break, you run. Hear me?”

She gripped Charlie even tighter, and he began to cry in earnest.

The third angel watched the scene with knitted brows. “Is this really necessary? It’s barbaric.”

“As are demons,” Micheal shrugged.

“Touché,” he acquiesced, then turned when the child with the baby begin to edge towards the outer limit of the barrier. With a sigh he swept forward, barely rustling his wings and stepped into their path. The child looked up with alarm, and he could see the fright trembling in her eyes. This was not an unusual reaction in the presence of the divine. _“Do not be afraid,”_ he spoke, and all was still.

Trixie froze. It was involuntary, a reaction in her muscles to the memory of something ancient and otherworldly. The fingers of her right hand were wrapped around her phone but she could barely move them, her mouth felt like a bad trip to the dentist and she couldn’t move her tongue. The angel in front of her looked almost kind, his face benevolent. No, she wasn’t afraid, she decided. But she still wasn’t going to trust him any further than she could throw him, which was not at all.

“I am sorry, but we cannot allow the baby to stay with you.” His words felt like a lullaby, soft and lilting, of warm summer nights and honeyed mead, of blanket skies that spread with stars. Her arms were heavy, so heavy, she felt them slipping, even as her mind screamed at her to hold on tight. She _couldn’t_ drop Charlie, she _couldn’t_ let him go– but he was already slipping through her fingers as if the world had slowed and time ran like caramel.

“There now,” the angel spoke again, and Charlie was lifted into in his arms. “Do not weep, my child, for it is a far, far better place he’s going, a place where he belongs. You see, this world… it is not the place for ones like us, this mortal plane, where everything grows and fades and dies; if he were to stay, he would only become more and more apart. So with us he _must_ go, so that he may be among his kin and kind. There is nothing you could do to prevent that.”

The child looked upon him, her eyes bright and streaming, but of course she could not move. He sighed, and took pity on her. It should never have happened this way; Michael had always been rather brash. “Do you wish to forget what you have seen?” He could offer simple mercies.

Trixie felt her muscles relax and that she was once again within the capacity to move. She stared at the angel with Charlie balanced in his grasp, and considered his words. She shook her head.

“Very well; may you walk in Light, my child. Peace be with you,” and he turned and strode away.

Her feet were moving too, unfrozen and muscles limbering on the spot and she turned, towards the dark haired angel with Charlie in his arms and golden one with smiles like ice. Maze and the other fought, and though she landed every punch, every kick, her knives tracing slick trails across his pride, Trixie could see she was weakening, and the angel towered unrelenting.

Finally Michael had had enough, and stayed Ariel’s next blow with an uttered word. Then he uncrossed his arms and drew his swords, two shining blades that equalled half his height and gleamed golden in the sun. He strode towards the demon on the ground unhurried, until he was standing by her side.

“Mazikeen,” he groomed, “do you remember?”

She still had a knife, and even on the ground she bared it, along with her teeth, but didn’t answer. Michael accepted this concession. “Allow me then to remind you.” And he lifted her by the scruff of her hair with one hand and with the other drove the sword into her chest.

Trixie must have made a sound because he turned to her, his eyes registering nothing as the body slumped from his blade. Then he glanced at the metal now marred red and shouldered his disgust, wiping it’s length against his cloak as he straightened. With that same graceful motion he sheathed them both, striding back towards the others waiting. Michael surveyed the grisly scene again, landing finally to frown at the state his tunic was now in. “I don't like sand,” he brushed at the clinging particles on his front with pert annoyance. “It's all coarse, and rough, and irritating. And it gets everywhere; _so_ like Earth. Gabriel, surely you can make him stop making that noise?”

Gabriel considered the baby. “Be at peace,” he spaketh. Charlie wailed even louder. “I tried.”

“Wonderful,” Michael huffed. “Let us be gone from here.” And it was so, and the angels were gone, a terrible truth was levelled upon the earth in their wake.

─────⋅☽ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

Someone called 911.

The sirens and lights arrived and swarmed the scene; she knew better than anyone that they were here to help, but that didn’t stop it from feeling intrusive and impersonal. This was more than a crime scene, it was consecrated ground, desecrated by the traffic and footfalls as the offers worked the area. Chloe sat on the bench beside the boardwalk, rocking her daughter in her arms as the paramedics strapped Maze onto the stretcher and bore her away.

“Will she be okay?” Trixie wanted to know.

“Maze is really strong, Monkey.” She wouldn’t lie, surrendering instead into the temptation of half-truths and gentle evasions. “They will do everything they can to help her get better.”

Dan stopped along side, from somewhere having found a blanket and pulled it over the both of them as he slumped onto the bench. “She’s in good hands,” he assured, though his face was drawn neutral, mostly for Trixie’s benefit.

“Please, dad,” she looked up at him. “We can’t let her go alone. She tried _so hard...”_

“I know she did,” he was conflicted, his eyes on his daughter. “How are you guys…?”

“I think we’ll be okay,” Chloe nodded slowly. “My mom’s with us.”

“Right. And there’s going to be a car on the house,” he finally agreed, pushing to his feet. “I’ll call as soon as I have news.” He leaned in to feel the embrace of small arms around his neck, and gave his ex a lingering squeeze on the shoulder; then he was gone into the swell of twinkling and flashing lights.

Chloe sighed, her gaze roving again across the scene. Yellow tape fluttered as the night breeze rolled off the waves and she was thankful for the light blanket. Crowds had gathered, rubberneckers and witnesses alike, but there was little consensus on what officially had happened. The witness were confused; she’d read the reports, nobody seemed to remember anything with any certainty. The fellow officer who spoke to Trixie while the paramedics checked her over was kind, but her eyes fled to Chloe’s several times as the child related her tale. And Trixie finally shut down, and the officer let her be, suggesting they could try again when she had rested. Chloe had nodded, to be polite.

“Mom,” the child in her arms whispered again, so low she had to strain to hear her. “How come in all the stories, angels are supposed to be… good?”

She sighed again, taking her time to find an answer she believed in. “I think the truth is, angels are a lot like people; most of them _are_ good, kind, and capable of so much love… but some angels make bad choices, just like us. And may not realize when those choices really hurt other people.” She found the words drying up in her throat. Just like that, Trixie had _known,_ and had come to know in a most terrible way, and yet… all she wanted to know now was if Maze would be okay, and why they had wanted to take Charlie, nothing about an extended worldview that now included Heaven, Hell, and the host of divinity that existed alongside her own. Maybe it was shock, but Chloe suspected otherwise. She continued softly, “the thing is, we can’t control what bad people – or angels – do, and that can be scary. But sometimes it helps to remember that despite the bad, there are _always_ the good who are helping us, even if we can’t see them right then.”

“I wish Lucifer was here,” Trixie murmured.

She planted silent kisses against her daughter’s hair.

Amenadiel had departed moments after Linda arrived; to Heaven, she’d assumed. He returned only a short while later, though she wondered if time worked differently between Heaven and Earth because he looked so tired and world-worn, as if he had fought a hundred year’s war. He spoke quietly to Linda, her face crumpling at the news, and he held her while she cried. When the officers finally gave them space he approached Chloe next, a question in his eyes that landed on Trixie, but she had nodded, and he began to speak.

“Charlie is with _them,”_ he didn’t clarify who he meant, and didn’t need to. “He’s unharmed, but they are keeping him from me, believing that I have been corrupted! _Me!_ And that I will not listen to reason, when they are the ones who effectuated this madness. And Michael… he is the most arrogant, sanctimonious ass–” he bit off his words, glancing at Trixie. When he was calmer he continued. “I’ll be returning shortly, but I am out numbered. It seems in my absence, my siblings have…” his eyes dropped again, and she saw the tears held there. “They may no longer see my side,” he finished.

“Amenadiel,” she’d whispered sadly. She saw in that moment how important it was for angels to connect with one another, to be acknowledged and accepted by their kin; angels and humans were really not that different. And she realized, with new clarity, the significance of what it meant to have been cast out, ostracized, to deny any contact or connection, and her heart shuddered again at the depravity of that act. “You know you are not alone,” she spoke. “Whatever disagreements you’ve had recently, your brother has always had your back.”

“He has,” the angel nodded sadly. “I don’t think I gave Luci enough credit for everything he did. And has done.” He was silent for some time as these thoughts weighed upon him, this new reality he found himself in weaving itself over top the old. He looked at Chloe, his eyes beseeching.

She nodded.

He hadn’t yet returned.

The sky was almost dark when the first sputter of fireworks burst in the distance. _Are there even stars in Hell?_ she shivered, and felt the little arms tighten around her when she did. She nudged Trixie up to see the rockets, and they sat there and watched the light spill across the sky, tiny starbursts and supernovas, breaking with all the colours of heaven and earth.

─────⋅☽ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

The Lord of Hell sat before his court. His grin was wide, his fingers steepled with solicitous intent, and his Armani suit was immaculate.

The court was aboil with rapacious anticipation, the denizens hushed and watching with attention rapt. Today the King was granting Favours, and people travelled from all across Hell’s battered scape to be granted an audience. When they came, they gambled that their King might be in a generous mood and grant their ask, and that the price he extracted in return would also be favourable. Usually, baring all else, the King of Hell was fair; but as in all life there was risk, and in Hell especially, there were those willing to risk everything.

The favours demons asked were not so unlike the favours asked by mortal men; mostly, they had to do with wealth, health, and notoriety.

For instance, one demon wished to be admired for his skill-at-arms, which in truth needed a bit of work before it was going to impress anyone; Lucifer recognized his hunger to succeed and granted him a position under the palace guard where he would be trained, and, barring his own incompetence, gain both. In exchange it would serve his time in the guard, something the demon was more than willing to give. Everyone got what they wanted.

Another coveted her neighbour’s land; in other regions such an ask might be frowned upon, but this was Hell. Lucifer granted her the means to barter for the goods in such a way he imagined both might come out ahead, and in return he gained sway and popularity over that region. Of course, this alone could not be left to the landowner, so here he instated was an IOU to be collected later; such IOU’s were fundamentally effective for keeping the citizens networked together and weary of their neighbour's dues.

In truth, most of the requests were rather mundane and sometimes he waved them off when he couldn’t be bothered to care any more; not that he _cared;_ the King of Hell most certainly did not. But he did enjoy of a well-run ship, or as well-run as a ship could be when the ship was Hell and being piloted by demons and was on fire most of the time by design.

He’d just turned away a patron who’d wanted the hand of wealthy heiress. At first he’d just been annoyed. “I’m not bloody Cupid!” he’d ruffled, and by the time the demon had managed to squeak out that no, he’d wanted her _actual hand,_ the guards had already absconded with him for wasting the King’s time. By that point he was soured on the ordeal and had begun calculating how much grog he’d have to drink to forget this day in its entirety. Pan was by his side at this point, and he whined at her, “I miss Nersi; Nersi would never have let this kind of riff-raff past inspection.”

“We all miss Nersi, my lord,” she condoled with him. “Shall I dismiss them all?”

“One more,” he shrugged, “but a good one.”

“By your definition or mine?”

_“Lucifer!”_ a bellow made its presence known.

“Oh, this had _better_ be good,” he roused to attention as the court of demons parted like the sea.

In strode Ashmedai, the Duke of Amaymon, Hell’s oldest house and a beast who may not so much have been born here than came into being after some unfortunate eruption threw up on itself after ingesting too much primordial soup. He was dressed in full military regalia and furling double-shouldered cloak of crimson-red; he was in observance of the court, and wore the face of a beautiful human man with warm golden hair and silver eyes, his features full and inviting. As a demon, he was the most dangerous kind. He was patient, confident in his capabilities and schooled by uncounted millennia surviving within in the worst place in existence, and he had not just survived, he’d flourished. It had carved him into a ruthless adversary who hungered after the world a way a stray dog never quite forgets those days it went hungry, and thrived on disorder and the discontent that festered around him.

He came to a stop before the throne, his cloak pooling at his boots as it settled. “The terms are unacceptable,” he said, and a hush spread through the room.

The first few months after he’d Fallen, Lucifer had spent putting Hell in order (or as close to order as Hell would allow itself to be put). Ashmedai’s legions had fought him brutally in those early days. But few things could withstand the wrath of a malcontent Arch Angel, and in the end Ashmedai had fallen to his knee before him, and the rule was conceded uncontested. He never presumed the demon would excuse that of him, and he did not expect it. He did not expect Ashmedai held any fondness for him now. But respect? That he _did_ demand in his court.

He didn’t move, but the air around him shivered, as if it too had frozen. “Which terms would these be?” he began slowly. “The ones you – and the many Houses who are duly represented here today – put ink to, or are there some other terms I have not heard about?”

Ashmedai smiled, a quick, cold grin. “I mean no discourtesy, my Lord. Only that the letter of the contract is upheld. The ink was drawn on expectations which have not come to pass. The hoards are restless. The roads between regions have been laid to waste by roving marauders and become impassible; even the Beasts of the Night have woken early, their eon’s hibernation truncated and they emerge ravenous and unyielding. But it is not limited to these incidents alone; do you not feel it, the dissonance, like a trembling in the very roots of the world?”

“I assure you, I feel nothing. And have not, for a very, very long time. But what I see is a demon who’s coming very close to overstepping his reach. If you have a point I suggest you reach it, posthaste.”

“Only that nowhere in the accord does it say a House may not take up arms to defend itself against plausible threat, and if I am to be chastized for doing that – for arming my people against the threat of calamity – then terms have _not_ been met and are thereby unacceptable.”

“Threat of _calamity?”_ Now the king did rise, and the only reason the demons had not scattered was because they’d frozen in spot, sprats in the presence of a shark. Ashmedai braced, his shoulders squared determinedly, but even his eyes diverted when the angel advanced with movements slick and predatory. _“What_ calamity, pray tell, is a worse than the one I would bring down upon an impudent demon who believes he is above the laws of this realm? What _else_ might he also believe he’s above?” He grasped Ashmedai by the heavy gold chains that bound his robe at his throat, and the Lord of Hell lifted him as if he were a strawman. Peels of red burst around them as his wings erupted, not the feathered grace of heaven but taught membrane and fused digits that spanned above his head, crowning him with massive pronged tines. Fire leached from his eyes. “Does he imagine himself to be higher than the King? That he too might sit astride the High Throne, above all of Hell?” His voice dripped down like the sweat that beaded the demon’s brow. _“Shall we go find out?”_

“No, my Lord,” he uttered, his lips pulled at the corners.

Lucifer held his gaze a moment longer, then released him to spill backwards onto the floor. “Then let it be so. Let the accord be upheld, that demons may govern themselves within it. Now remove yourself from my presence and be glad that it is my only ask of you for this insubordination.”

The Duke never raised his head as he gathered himself and turned, his cloak an angry ripple trailing at his back.

His wings shivered from the agitation of their host, and without ceremony he shrugged them away. He felt the hellfire simmer down, and in the hall the guests had begun to slink away. It was just as well. The King would be seeing no more–

_“Lucifer!”_

_“Oh, for the love of–”_ he turned, eager for the excuse to literally decapitate someone, _Game of Thrones_ style, when the interloper came into view. His face fell even further. “Brother…”

“Lucifer,” Amenadiel swept forward, barely folding his wings away by the time he’d landed in front of him. “I need–”

“I told you never to come here again.”

“I know. But Luci–”

_“Did I stutter, brother?”_ his words reverberated through the fleetly emptying hall.

Amenadiel planted himself. “It’s Charlie. He’s in danger.”

His lips pursed with exasperation. “I am aware; one of the reasons I remain, as you recall?”

“It’s Michael,” he said.

Lucifer was still. Then he pursed his breath, _“bugger,”_ and he turned and strode towards the inner chambers.

“Lucifer,” his brother fell in a step behind him. “They took him. They came to Earth and they took him. Maze was almost killed! And–” he jumped back to avoid the swinging door, slipping inside before it shut. “Chloe was there. Trixie was nearly caught in the crossfire.”

They were standing in another long room with vaulting ceilings, where lights hung suspended like dew captured in a spider’s web. He couldn’t see his brother’s face, but his silence filled the space between them. “What happened?” he finally broke it.

“Charlie was with Maze and Trixie. On the beach. Eating ice cream. Not that Charlie’s eating solids yet, though I’m sure Maze took that into account… Then Michael appeared with Gabriel and Ariel... They went through Maze to take him; they’re not sure if she will make it. And Trixie saw the whole thing, and Chloe found them – after they had taken Charlie back to Heaven, because Michael believes that if he were to stay on Earth, he will be corrupted. Like you. And, now apparently, _me;_ it seems what friends I did have in the Silver City have diminished in my absence.”

There was another silence before it broke again. “Welcome to the club.”

“Luci,” he implored. “You must help me.”

“And how do you suppose I would do that?” he spun on his heel. “Have you forgotten that I am not welcomed there still? What were you planning – to storm the Gates of the City, hold a siege of two until they give in to your demands? Mount another war?”

He didn’t wait for him to speak, turning to a shelf that had been indistinguishable from the rest of the wall a moment before. He selected an clouded bottle from the rack, grimacing at it but pouring anyways. He didn’t offer his brother a drink. “I have been giving a lot of thought recently to something you once said. About Humanity and Divinity… that they do not mix. Perhaps, I was puerile to have refuted you so harshly.”

Amenadiel frowned, his brows furrowing.

“Consider this, brother… what have _we_ brought to humanity by our involvement with them? ...alright, so the bit in the Garden was really more on me than anyone else in particular... But more recently, with all of this… demons crawling over Los Angeles, angels having a bask on the beach… countless humans being killed and damaged because they are defenceless against the might of the divine... and it’s because of _us_ … _We_ did this to them.” He paused, taking another slow swallow of drink. “But now… now that Charlie is away in heaven, our brothers and sisters will have no further interest in the place. And so, everyone on Earth will be safe again, as it was before we came. As it should have been all this time.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“It isn’t a lie,” he mused.

“That’s not how it is!”

“Oh, is it now?” he challenged. “Who are you to say otherwise? Because the biggest danger to humanity has _always_ been me!”

The glass shattered, a thousand shards spilling across the ebony floor like broken stars.

It was a long time before either of them spoke. Then Amenadiel set his chin, even as his brother refused to meet his eyes. “That’s not true,” he said.

Lucifer huffed, almost a laugh. “Yet they call me the stubborn one. I am sorry,” he continued, stepping over the glass as he made his way to the doorway at the far end of the hall. “There is nothing I can do. Please, see yourself out.”

He half expected his brother to protest again, to run up after him, to pound on the door after it closed, but he did none of these things, and as the latch clicked, he found himself alone and surrounded by silence.

How still was this seductive and smothering silence; it thrummed, an embryonic pulse that laced through the fabric everything, for it had been here before Hell was Hell, when the universe was nothing but silence. And he _hated_ it. He had fought against it, centuries at a time, keeping at bay the endless silence with people and parties and booze, narcotics and stimulants, pain and pleasures of the flesh and mind, every external agent leveraged to evince that he was still here, that his flesh was his own, his mind rebelling against every entrapment and seductive escapism in turn.

He knew in the end it would most likely consume him, too; was that not inevitable? That was the order of things before there had been Gods, and one day, he suspected, it would be again.

For he knew that before there was light there had been darkness, because he was the one who’d lit the stars when God had spoken. And he knew, that because it had existed before, so it could again. Eternity was only a matter of time.

A matter of time before _she_ would forget, and his scar upon the earth might be erased.

That was always what his Father wanted, didn’t he? To erase him. His Mother had intervened at the last moment and that had landed him in Hell instead, which was as close to being forgotten as a child of Heaven might hope to achieve while still living, still able to perceive and contemplate that loss. His Father must have been so pleased.

The notion still roused anger in him, even within the void; anger at least was accommodating (unlike some of those other, more inconvenient emotions). Anger could be cultivated, sharpened and honed until it could be wielded like a sword, and in Hell he had made good use of it. Anger had sustained him, like hate, and he hated Hell more with each passing day. Because it was easier to feel anger than hurt, to acknowledge the injustice than the loss.

That's why he’d sent his brother away each time he'd come.

Not that he wasn’t used to losing to him; Amenadiel had always been a formidable opponent, even when they were young and on the same side. Then they had sparred and jostled and spat as brothers do, and rejoiced in it. In those days, his brother held back, but time changes things. Each time he’d appear on Earth to drag him back to Hell, it was only a short matter before Heaven’s Finest would employ brute force to make their Father’s will known. Not that Lucifer hadn’t ceremoniously conceded (on some level he looked forward to their decennial rendezvous, glutton for punishment that he was) but occasionally he did wonder what might have been, had all restraints been off.

So _of course_ Amenadiel had won again. The Devil’s Luck was a cruel turn of phrase because it was clearly something he’d never possessed; Amenadiel had always been the lucky one. He was their Father’s favourite, if you believed the literature, and it was Amenadiel who’d ended up on earth, surrounded by friends, with someone who cared for him and the child they’d made – the _family_ they’d made – together. The thought it made him nearly physically ill and he didn’t know why, because that was _not_ something the Devil had ever wanted.

Maybe he only ever wanted for things he couldn’t have.

His thoughts lit on Charlie, and guilt bloomed. Another person he had failed, and they’d not been in the world a year yet. It riled against everything he held in conviction that the child should be taken against its will to abide in Heaven, but... what could he do? And then anger flared bright when he thought of that other little Urchin, for if any of his brothers had hurt her, or the Detective…

“He’s left,” Pangenie announced, feathers rustling as she folded her wings. “I could still release the hounds after him though, if it would make you feel better.”

He did not respond, one arm braced against the cold stone wall and his head bowed against it.

She considered him, her Lord, this strange Angel who’d fallen from the sky long before she’d been born. He was so unlike every other creature in this place she could not help but be dazzled by him, especially in those early days, when they’d first forged an arrangement with each other.

It was an unusual arrangement, to be sure; he was King and she a half-breed of indeterminate rank, not that the Lord of Hell had ever made such distinctions in his own Court; skill alone must speak on your behalf. Her skills came duly noted – she had been trained by Mazikeen. But she was not popular in the way his last Praetorian had been, she was not renowned or universally revered. In fact, before she was Named she was not much known at all, and suspected this had been in part the reason she’d been chosen. She was decisive, opinionated, and fierce; she was an excellent right-hand; she held herself apart from the ruckus of the court because she preferred to watch, eagle-eyed, from her perch above the grand hall. She was his eyes and ears, and her reach was far, for it was better in Hell to be feared than glorified, although Mazikeen had certainly attained both.

It would be unfair to compare herself to Mazikeen, so, pragmatic the demon that she was, she did not. Her expectations, and her King’s, had never brought it into contest.

Therein lay the other distinction. Their arrangement was strictly professional.

Oh, she adored her King, as many of the citizens of Hell adored him. He was a King of the People, accessible, indulgent, profligate. When she’d first met him, he’d been the brightest thing she had ever beheld in the world.

There were stories in her mother-tongue of a time before when the doors between worlds were ajar and Harpies soared through skies that were the colour of azure. Her great-grandmother told her it was so, for she had flown them, though the petulant child that she was never believed it – that something existed beyond this ceiling of grey? _incomprehensible._ Her mind had changed the day she’d seen the Angel.

He looked like starlight, a memory of open sky and endless flight.

When he’d returned to Hell the last time, he’d been a terrible fury, a rage burning from the inside out until the core was left black, petrified and opaque. The light – of stars, of lingering sunbeams and forgotten radiance – had faded before her eyes. It made something shudder in her bones, a growing dread that became more impossible to ignore, to hold her tongue in this suffocating silence.

“Is The Detective in danger?” she asked point-blank.

“I… I don’t know,” his words trembled.

“You are bound to protect her?”

He wouldn’t answer. How could he? He had no words with which to explain. To demons, ‘to be bound’ to someone was an act of rite, a declaration, a blood oath sworn and obeyed until one of them breathed their last breath. How could he explain to her that no such oath had be forged, no pact drawn, yet he was bound with something far deeper and arcane, something that had tethered his soul to this mortal woman in a way he knew it should not have been, yet he would want for no alternative. That he would give his life for hers again and again, not because he was sworn or she had asked, for no other reason than he wished to.

She threaded his silence into the words he would not say. “Go.”

He turned to her, his face a mixture of dismay and relief and trepidation woven through the fragile strands.

“Go,” she said again. “My lord, right now, your place is not here. My single duty to you is to safeguard the King, and so I do, by informing you of your duty to leave. Now. Before you have wasted any more time. Just _GO.”_

And Pan levelled him with such a look of fierceness and staunch resolve which no subject should ever direct towards her King. And the King, in all his luminous glory, acquiesced.

Lucifer nodded.

He turned wordlessly, striding down the dark corridor to where the walls gave way to a wide hall that delivered itself onto a scarce, open-faced rampart. Here the palace opened like a stony aerie with jutted peeks and pitched alcoves, treacherous to anyone without wings. Hell lay sprawled below him, the honeycomb of columns and labyrinth of streets, branching in every shade of soot and grey, and the still ash fell, as it so often did, clinging to his face, his suit, his hair.

He stood upon the precipice, the enormity of his choice weighing him and causing his balance to sway as the winds buffeted, but in the end he found that mattered very little since in truth he had always been damned; this time, he welcomed it.

He unfurled his wings, and they illuminated like a beacon on the palace’s bleak face, the only thing in the vast and expansive sprawl of monochrome that stood apart from it and shone brighter than all else. Then in a sweep of feathers he was gone, and Hell was nothing but shades of limitless grey once more.

─────⋅☽ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ☾⋅─────

He’d flown only until he was out of sight line of the palace when he landed, his dark, evening-coloured wing collapsing against the ground and beating the ash. He wanted to beat something else, his hands balled into fists, barely contained emotions battling in his chest. Why had he done this to himself? Why had he believed this could be different? Lucifer disappointing him was such an old wound, one he was surprised to find still hurt.

A sound came from down one of the long, winding halls that wove through the Columns of the Damned, and he straightened, instinctively; Hell wasn’t the place to relax one’s guard. He’d been here more times than he cared to remember, over the centuries, keeping mind of things when his brother shoved off his responsibilities yet again. And here he was _again_ , like a loop endlessly repeating. He turned and slammed his fist against the nearest panelled door as hard as he could, and the door shuddered on its hinges, ash unsettling, the sound echoing through the corridors. He removed his hand from the crater and watched as slowly, the door began to mend itself, the mesh of wood stitching over the shallow splintering until there was no perceivable change from the moment before the impact. Worse, Hell seemed to chuckle at his futility. Amenadiel closed his eyes, allowing the swell of grief to fall.

“Those tears are not for Lucifer, are they?” a voice, distantly familiar, separated from the ambiguous snickering into something more considerate, almost contrite.

He reeled, finding the woman leaning against a nearby archway, the hood of her cloak pushed back on her shoulders, the colour of lush persimmons that seemed to vibrate against the stony grey. “Lilith. Leave me be.”

She called his weary bluff by stepping forward, her expression deep and contemplative. “Should have come to me first off,” she suggested lightly.

_He didn’t have time for this._ The last thing he wanted right now was to be wasting time, talking to this damned creatures in this damned place while his son–

“I can help you retrieve Charlie,” Lilith said.

He froze. “What do you know about this, demon?”

“Not a demon,” her eyes narrowed. “I said, I _could_ help you, but if that’s going to be the case, I’ll require better manners of you going forward.”

It wasn’t a conversation he should be having, he knew that. But desperation makes for strange bedfellows. He turned to Lilith in full, eyeing her wearily. No, she wasn’t a demon, she was far, far worse: the First Fallen, even before his brother Fell, the first piece to splinter from that Divine Tree and the start of a crack that would one day tear the realms asunder. He hated her on principal. And yet… it was his own brothers and sister who held his son captive now, as if the whole world had been turned on its head. He shook his head in confusion; right and wrong should not have been so hazy, so inextricably intertwined.

“What… can you do?” he tempered his reluctance.

Lilith smiled, but it was a tight, professional grace. “First, you need someone on your side who has nothing to lose; consider me available on that count. Secondly, it may improve your odds to include someone who’s not blatantly barred from entering Heaven. Also me, ironically. And finally… no one is better than I at stealing babies. Surely my reputation precedes me.”

He regarded her from where he stood, conflicts warring. He’d every right to be weary, and yet the most dangerous thing she offered him was hope. “I don’t trust you,” he admitted, “I don’t see why you’d choose to help me unless you also had something to gain.”

“You would like to know if there’s a catch,” she pondered, easily amused. “Well, frankly, I don’t think there’s anything you can offer me that I’d want. So how’s that?”

He scoffed. “Then what’s in it for you?”

She shrugged. “A change of scenery. Ashmedai’s been letting things go to head again, and I’m keen to be as far away from him as possible when Lucifer discovers the extent. Also, it’s an opportunity to mess around with God’s plan; what’s not to love about that?”

He looked at her, frowning.

“What? Isn’t that what all you angels say – that your actions are _‘the extension of God’s Divine Will’_ and all manner of sanctimonious rambling?”

“Perhaps some of us _may_ have run with things we did not fully comprehend...”

Lilith smiled, this time with honesty. “I would say we’re not so different, humans and angels, but then I’d probably offend you and we were just beginning to get along.”

“Well, you might be surprised.” Amenadiel sighed, and stared at the ground. Ash had begun to drift over the tops of his toes; he realized then he’d stormed Heaven in sandals and a red and blue frond-patterned Hawaiian shirt. No wonder his siblings hadn’t taken him seriously.

“How about this,” Lilith began again. “If trust is unachievable, then I’ll give you my bond: for the duration of my time on Earth, I will remain confined to you, until either Charlie is returned, or the bond is transferred to another you deem fit. Naturally, I’m physically barred from harming anyone under the bond, if that’s what you’re afraid of. However, I know you’ve made deals for less.”

Amenadiel grimaced, teeth working under his jaw. His answer was short. “Alright. But should you do _anything…”_

“Surely you expect I’ve more sense than to piss off an Angel,” she smirked.

“Fine then; but one miss-step, and we’re done. I take no chances with my son’s safety.”

“Then it’s a deal.”

They shook on it, and in swirling of ash they were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will never make too many Star Wars references >.>
> 
> Also, I haven't read the comics so the Angels featured here are entirely of my own flawed design; I think as long as don't channel too much Homelander while writing Micheal, it should all turn out okay?
> 
> Thank you all for your love, kudos, & support! <3


	7. Somewhere Beyond the Sea

_Long, long ago, in the Time Before, God roamed the universe like the drift of dreams, until Goddess appeared and Life awoke, and Creation spread like joy across time and space._

_Before Goddess, God had created only simple things - patterns and arrays that branched and and spanned in ever complicating fractals; theoretical things - ideas and deviations and infinite modulations, each more sophisticated than the last. But when first They twined upon that fertile spread it was like a wick lit, inspiration fused with desire and gave it voice; suddenly and with urgency these ideas and possibilities could not be contained and they burst forth, interfusing and exponentially expanding, and that was the Beginning of All Things._

_They had children, many children, and these Children of the Gods shone with a light the universe had not yet seen; and when God saw this He knew then what He must do next, for wonder as grand as this must be shared._

_So He summoned His youngest son, the brightest of all the Angels and told him,_ “Let there be Light,” _and so it was done, the stars lighting away the Darkness and filling creation with marvel._

_If God had a plan in those days is it was one loosely held, like the string of the kite that keeps it aloft, yet freely meanders wherever the wind takes it. And Life was like that: it had design, it had purpose, but instead of progressing dutifully forward like a fractal in the perfect replication of intent, as it grew, it expanded, diverged, supplanted, and spread. Life evolved._

_Life inspired Him._

_God saw what He had made and He marvelled at it, for it was Good. So He set about creating more and more, and soon all manner of complexity were explored, from infinitesimal eukaryotes to a sprawling web of flora and fauna; He created, all the wild and wonderful, filled with an insatiable drive for more._

_If the time He spent tinkering kept Him absent from the common home He kept with Goddess and His Children, He did not count on its significance. Perhaps, the eons simply slipped away from Him. Time grew distant; the universe shuddered from absence. For the first time there was unrest, and it grew like a shadow over the heart._

_For the one who’d lit the stars, it was as if Darkness had begun to seep again over the Light._

_If God noticed He said nothing of it, and that was part of the problem._

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

“You really drink all the coke?”

“I drank _my_ coke. I was not aware it was communal coke.”

“Dude, it’s a thing. I grab chips, and you grab the cokes. _Plural._ That’s how we work this. And now what am I supposed to do ‘cause I already ate the chips, but now there’s no coke, and I’m thirsty.”

“I didn’t know we had a thing. Besides, drinking too much coke will kill you.”

“Not as fast as I will if you keep drinking it all. Jeeze. It’s after midnight. Nothing moving on the house. I think there’s a convenience store out at the corner…”

“Do as you like, I ain’t moving.”

“You’re not still seriously going on about–”

“You saw the scene. You read the witness reports. That was some messed up shit.”

“And we deal with shits like that every single day.”

“Not like this.”

“Oh, not _again...”_

“I’m just sayin’...”

“Don’t say it.”

“Remember the Mayan.”

“I said don’t say it.”

“It was–”

_“Don’t say it–”_

“Aliens.”

“Jesus Christ, Reyes, will you stop with the aliens! It was not aliens and it never will _be_ aliens, and if you start in again about daylight savings time–”

There was sudden swell of light, and the patrol car rocked once as if caught in a crosswind. The night returned to black the moment after, and both officers were alert. “Did you see–”

“Must of been a street light blowin’ out...”

“But you felt the car shake!”

“Yeah, and we live in California. The earth shakes a lot, what’s your point?”

“Decker was working the Mayan case too; do with that information as you will.”

“I can’t even – hey, someone’s approaching the residence,” he suddenly straightened, hand reaching for the radio.

Beside him Reyes, who had the passenger side view, was peering into the dim intently. “Oh, hey– it’s Lucifer! Didn’t know he was back in town; I like that guy.”

Both officers visibly relaxed, sinking into their seats. “Didn’t know he was back either. They probably called him.”

“Heard he was spy; think there’s any truth in that?”

“You have no problem believing that aliens visited the beach today and abducted a baby, but _that_ you don’t buy?”

“Eh. Didn’t say I didn’t believe it, just making conversation. What’s he doing anyways?”

They watched in silence as the debonair silhouette strode gracefully up to the door and prepared to knock. Then stopped. Then turned around, taking a few steps to the left, then a few to the right, then stopped at the door again. Then he turned to address the sky at large with wide, sweeping gestures, then resumed pacing for another couple counts before landing again in front the door. Then he knocked.

Light flooded as the door was opened and let the Devil in.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

She’d fallen asleep before Trixie, but this wasn’t something that occurred to her until she was coming awake again, stirred from fitful slumbers by the whisper of a dream; _“Lucifer!”_ was squealed, followed by the muffled shriek of someone who was never sure what to do about the small person who just attached itself around his waist, and would be standing there with his arms slightly ajar and eyes imploring.

Her fingers scrunched over the blankets where Trixie had been sleeping when she realized her daughter wasn’t there. The notion jolted her the rest of the way awake and she sat up in the bed, still fully clothed, trying to make sense of the sounds in the beach house.

Trixie was talking, babbling really – why was she up, it must be well after midnight? – and Lucifer was trying to interject between breaths but it was a downhill battle and––

_Lucifer._

She bolted the rest of the way out of bed.

They were in the kitchen, and the scene looked so… _normal_ … Lucifer in his dark suit with Trixie glued to his midsection, her mother gamely offering drinks, his flustered look as he tried to sort it all out, and his eyes when they lifted and found her and everything stilled. His lips moved–

 _“Mom!_ Lucifer’s back! I _told_ you he’d be back, and now he can help you save Charlie!” Trixie relaxed her grip for a millisecond when she turned, which Lucifer took full advantage of to slither free.

“I’m not sure I said that in so many words–” he began, but the child was turning, taking hold of his sleeve with such a grip he’d rip the Armani if he moved further.

“You _can_ help him, right? With the angels? Because we tried–” tears brimmed, and suddenly were falling, streaking down her cheeks and causing the ash to run dark rivulets down his suit. She buried her face into his side. “Maze and I, we tried to stop them. But Maze got hurt, and I couldn’t… I tried to hold on, but I couldn’t. And then they took him. I’m sorry.”

It was horrifying how much the tiny body shook, sobs escaping from her lungs in watery gasps. He was afraid she might break (death by emotions seemed very plausible!) but he pushed aside that stab of fear in favour of something far more useful. He felt the fire itch beneath the surface of his skin but willed it away, because the last thing the child needed now was to face another monster. She’d already had her fill of those, and they would be made to pay for the transgression, but there was something else he must deal with first.

“Child,” he spoke firmly, taking her by the shoulders to face him, then disliking the way he towered over so adjusted his stance, dropping to a knee so he was level with her eyes. “Listen to me. You have nothing to be sorry for. What happened here today was not your fault, not in any way. There was nothing you could have done to change the outcome, no matter what you tried. Sometimes we can do all the right things and still loose, and that is not weakness nor ineptitude, that is simply life. It isn’t always fair. Do you understand that?” She nodded, eyes bright and dewy, but no tears fell. “I can make no promises on the behalf of others, but I give you my word: I will do everything in my power to see that you have nothing to fear from them ever again.”

He watched her face, her brows knitting into an expression that was so like her mother’s he found it flooded him with a strange warmth; her mouth firmed as her jaw set with determination and left no doubt she would be a formidable force when she was grown. “Okay?” he asked tentatively.

For an answer she threw her arms around his neck and buried him in a bear hug. He really should have seen that coming.

Superhuman strength alone kept him ballasted, and when his arms found their balance he discovered they fit neatly over the small back. He gave it a light, tentative squeeze the way he’d seen the Detective do, and Trixie squeezed him back with a sigh. He found that this also lightened the feeling in his chest, spreading throughout his body as if he’d never been warm enough in Hell. Which was an absurd notion; Hell had been stifling. It was with complete confusion his eyes went seeking help again and found the Detective.

She was rumpled from sleep, her clothes wrinkled and her ponytail askew and unravelling, and she was by far the brightest thing this side of Heaven, and no, that wasn’t true either because there had been nothing in Heaven which ever shone so bright, and he realized with wonderment that she was even more beautiful than his memory had framed her, and he was moved to discover again every little crease and detail, every contour and changing expression he would never tire of exploring. He suspected too he that he would be content to suffer a thousand sticky hugs if it meant he might gaze upon her a little longer. She regarded him with a soft expression, her fingers ghosting against her lips as if to hide the small smile, one he recognized now was reserved for when she was pleased with him, a mix of admiration and surprise, of fondness and offered grace. It was worth every moment he had spent in Hell.

“Come on, Monkey; give Lucifer some space. It’s been a long day, and he’s probably really tired too.” At her mother’s request Trixie did released him, allowing him the room to straighten.

He took the drink that Penelope offered with a quick nod of receipt. Pleased, she glanced down at her granddaughter with a conspiratorial grin. “How about you say goodnight to Lucifer so he and your mom can talk, and I’ll help you get back into bed?”

“Good night, Lucifer,” the returned smile was still guarded, but it was there. “I’m really glad you’re back. We all missed you, _so_ much.”

“Well, I suppose I missed you too; the company in Hell is just dreadful.”

Penelope’s look was confused but Trixie was grinning wide as they slipped back into the spare bedroom and shut the door, securing the silence with a click.

A breath. Then, “Detective–” “Thanks–” “Oh, after you–” he conceded with a loose smile.

“Thank you,” she began again, her words sounding a bit breathless . “For what you said to Trixie. I think it really helped her, hearing that from you.”

“It’s only the truth, Detective. I am sorry that I wasn’t here–”

She stopped him with a hand gesture. “I know. It’s alright.”

“It bloody well is not,” he spit out the words. “This should not have happened. _None_ of this should have happened. Even for my siblings this kind of action is unprecedented, not since, well, biblical times, and you see how well _that_ went over! Particularly without ordinance from my Father and I highly doubt He’s decided to come down and start talking to anybody... Are you okay?” he looked up at her suddenly, and when she nodded, “are you sure?”

She nodded again. “I am. I'm fine. And I think Trixie will be okay, with some time. I heard from Dan about an hour ago, Maze is out of surgery; there were some… complications… but it sounds like she’s stable and he’ll let me know as soon as he has more news. I guess you talked to Amenadiel, and Linda’s here… sleeping off a half bottle of rum and whatever pills my mom gave her so I will be checking on her throughout the night... But Charlie… What can we do?”

He took a swig of the wine; it was cheap, fruity, a terrible meld of sugars and tannins, and it was the best thing he’d had to drink in years. He downed the glass. “I don’t know if I can help Charlie.”

He saw her face fall and it tore at something inside him, the little swallow catching in her throat as she took in the news. He hated disappointing her. He hated his own inadequacies more as he watched her mull over the information, a stubborn crease forming between her brows as she refused to be bowled down by it; he loved that about her too, that strength of resolved, and he wondered how many times he had to fail the ones he loved. “They have taken him where I cannot go. It is that simple.”

“Amenadiel said he would return to talk to them. He needs your support on this. Even if you can’t go with him, there must be _something_ you can do…”

“What would you have me do?”

“Something! I don’t know! Anything!” Tears bit the corners of her eyes and she wiped them away angrily, frustrated with herself because she knew wasn’t approaching this rationally, the way a cop should. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. It’s been a really tough day. I just... can’t stop thinking about what Linda and Amenadiel are going through, again, because of all this… and what if it had been Trixie…” her features collapsed.

“She is safe; Detective, I assure you.” He moved towards her but stopped just short of entering her circle of space. “They took Charlie because of a misguided belief that Heaven would be better-suited for him, because he’s part angel. They have no interest in anyone else and your little hellion has nothing to fear.”

Her face was bowed and he waited cautiously for her to take heart in the news, but instead she shuddered, her hands tucking under her elbows as if she were cold. “But _what if?”_

“Well I wouldn’t let them, would I?!” exasperation flared, for in Hell he had little need to keep his temper in check. “My family would have to answer to _me_ before I allowed any of them near either of you, and I assure you, they have not forgotten what I am capable of.”

Her expression changed, widening in sudden surprise, and told him he’d slipped, that hellfire was glinting bright and furiously in his eyes. Regret was instant and he rubbed his hand across his brow as if he could erase the moment before. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t meant for you, and you shouldn’t have to see it.” He took a step back, finding his words carefully, and shored himself before he continued. “Please know, that it is not for lack of wanting that I am not rushing to Charlie’s aid; it is a delicate matter and it should be treated in kind, and I have never been that kind of Devil.”

He looked up when he felt her fingers on his arm, a gentle squeeze that was like a match strike, lighting up every nerve and rekindling pathways Hell had done its best to erode. Her words were gentle. “You really aren’t.”

It took some focus to remember that he too could speak. “Er, yes, well… brazen and brash are more my wheelhouse. Hot-headed, on occasion.”

“Huh. Hadn’t noticed.”

“Then I have no idea how you’ve managed as a detective all these years.”

“I may have had help.”

“Doubtful; what kind of help is a partner who up and leaves with little more than a goodbye?”

He couldn’t meet her eyes. Her fingers on his sleeve held him rooted in place, conflicting with the urge to turn and flee so he wouldn’t have to hear the words she’d say next. But she deserved to tell him, and he deserved to hear them, no matter how completely her rejection might unravel every part of him.

He heard the breath she took, held for a moment before exhaling.

“He felt there was a good reason.”

 _“Reason,”_ even the word tasted bitter. “The road to Hell is paved with the fallibility of reason.”

She hadn’t let go of his arm. Not that he was unwilling to receive whatever reparations she levied against him; if it would allow him to remain in her presence, those he would gladly take. He _deserved_ her anger, to be chastised, her disparagement and reproach. But what he couldn’t comprehend was this plainess, the quiet; he had hurt her terribly, he knew that, and that fact remained apart from whatever reasoning he had held in defence.

For he had rejected her when she offered him the one thing he believed he’d never have, and he’d denied her that one desire when she finally asked him for something for herself.

Nothing could atone for that.

Perhaps… perhaps it was that she had simply progressed _beyond_ caring; that… was exactly what he desired, was it not? That one day his bruise upon them would be so far diminished it would bare no trace of him, as if this foredoomed mise-en-scène had never been. That was the best outcome, that was everything he should want; he just hadn’t realized, how until this moment, how so small a truth could cause this much more hurt. Because it felt like he were burning all over again, except this time the flames curled from the inside out, squeezing the oxygen from his lungs and drowning him until he was sure he could feel the prickle of flames licking his skin even when his eyes relayed nothing was there. He needed to go. He knew that now, he had made a terrible miscalculation. He faltered, but her fingers steeled around his arm, holding him in place.

“That sounds… very human.”

He could hear the way her mouth quirked into a gentle grin, the teasing quality lifting on her tongue as she answered, and he didn’t understand.

_He didn’t understand any of this._

And now suddenly there was something dreadful growing in his chest again and he tried to quash it before it could get away on him, but hope was infectious, and he was a fool. And she was looking at him with eyes that were so infinitely blue it felt like the tug of ancient skies and he was helplessly free-falling into them...

He moved to say something, when her phone beeped.

She startled, closing her eyes in a silent count before she released his arm and fished the offending device from her sweater pocket. Then her gaze brightened. “It’s Dan – Maze is awake! He says they’re okay!”

“Of course she’s okay!” Lucifer groaned, because on some level he felt sure Maze had done that to him on purpose. “She’s a demon, and you of all people should know how hard it is to take one out.”

Those words made her straighten. “What about the demons – with you being up here?”

“Well, they may have yet to notice, but I also left a guard at the door. So that buys a bit of time.”

“I see,” she digested the information. “Then we need to work quickly.”

She was chewing on her lower lip while she spoke, and that was making it hard for him to focus, because in the absence of those self-deprecating flames his nerves were left to alight with other sensations, familiar sensations, wholly inappropriate sensations and he frowned, because he realized he hadn’t a clue what she was going on about but was fairly certain they weren’t the same considerations he suddenly had kindling to the forefront.

“Charlie,” she prompted him, purely out of habit. “What’s our next move?”

Oh. She was still on _that._ Ever the detective, ever on the case, and he had missed every insufferable moment of it. Very well, he would offer whatever assistance he could and hoped she wouldn’t be terribly disappointed with the results. “Amenadiel likely has more information, he talked to our siblings directly.”

“Right. Do you know where he is?”

“Haven’t seen him since I left Hell. I suppose I could summon him, but then I _really_ want a drink, and maybe a shower…”

“It really _is_ late, and you just got back; you must be exhausted...”

He opened his mouth to protest, but the Detective yawned suddenly and widely, the motion swallowing her whole frame. Instead he sighed, but the smile was soft. “Well, one of us certainly is. Perhaps we should reconvene on this in the morning?”

She tilted her gaze upwards, tracing along the lines of worry etched around his eyes. The ash still clung to his dark suit, and it took everything to stop herself from reaching up and dragging her fingers through that dark hair to shake loose the ash that had settled there too. Instead she tucked her fingers around herself where they’d behave, nodding slowly. “Yeah. We can do that. So tomorrow morning at the penthouse?”

 _He just got back,_ she steeled herself. He was exhausted and twitchy and probably hadn’t had a proper sleep or shower in – how long had it been in Hell? She wouldn’t pester him. He probably needed time to decompress, some space to ground himself, and a good night’s sleep. It had to be enough that he was here, and the rest could wait until tomorrow. And she wouldn’t let herself ask him to stay, not for a second time.

He nodded. “That sounds... sensible.”

That he was turning towards the door and in the next moment would walking out burst on her conscience like a klaxon. _Get a hold of yourself, Decker,_ she cringed inwardly. _He’s just going to Lux, not to Hell, and you have to get yourself together before he starts thinking you’re a crazy person. You’ve got this._ If the truth was closer to an unmoored boat bobbing on a tempestuous sea, trying not to be dashed by the jagged edges of certain ruin that lurked just beneath the caliginous surface, well, that was not conversation for tonight. There were far greater needs to attend to than her own.

Instead, she honed her focus and fell in step beside him. “Alright. So you speak with Amenadiel, and have him meet us there? And depending on what he says, we’ll see how to move on this, and what we need to do to get those bas– your siblings –give Charlie back.”

“You were right the first time; Michael’s quite the inglorious bastard. But you do realize these are angels you’re talking about,” he frowned, hesitating as if to contemplate the door fixture with more attention than had ever been its due. “You seem absurdly determined about taking on host of them for a mortal, squishy human, you know.”

She shrugged, but held a grin. “It’s just what any parent would do for their child, if that child were in trouble.”

The door opened; the night was warm and still, muddy clouds spread hazy orange rivers against the black carpet of sky. His gaze was drawn there too, dark and rueful. “You’ll just have to excuse me Detective, if that has not been my experience in the matter.”

He sensed her movement, the quiet rustle of fabric as she came to stand beside him, her fingers running gentle patterns across his shoulder as she leaned into his space. The sigh was involuntary, releasing from deep within her chest. “We really did miss you,” she said softly, and then, softer still, “I missed you.” Then she dismissed the space altogether, reaching up and brushing her fingers along the line of his jaw before she followed with her lips.

The kiss was flush and warm and held just longer than it needed to be chaste. She tasted the way the stars felt on his skin, of radiance and electricity and for a moment he could only surrender, until the warmth of her pressed into that last part of his soul Hell had tried so hard to claim. It filled him with a sense of what he had once been, when he had been worthy of Light, and in that he wanted nothing else than to be worthy again. He chased her lips then, and she met him, and they lingered against the other until at last, she drew her breath and broke away.

“Tomorrow morning, then?” she smiled against him.

Tomorrow brimmed with promises of varicoloured sunrise, of light to spill and blossom like spring across winter’s epoch, and she stood on the threshold of these mysteries with the question on her lips the key.

 _“Yes,”_ he answered her, to everything.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

“You owe me twenty bucks.”

“How do you figure?”

“Told you they were boning.”

“That’s hardly a fair bet! I mean, _come on_ … I’m straight, and _I’d_ totally do him.”

“Pay up, and I’m getting myself a drink.”

“If I give you the money will you shut up about the coke?”

“Can we not bring up the Mayan ever again?”

“Fine,” Reyes shrugged easily enough. He wiggled his wallet out of his back pocket, presenting the bill across the centre console. “But you know what _else_ doesn’t line up? Daylight savings time.”

“And I’m done,” he snatched the twenty and was out the door before Reyes launched into his next installment of the Conspiracy Theory 101, with just another five hours confined in a small car with him to go...

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

_**EARLIER ~** _

Sterile halls under green fluorescent lighting and the sharp smell of disinfectant had become like a recurring dream, one kept relegated to the back of his mind until confronted with it again, slouched in the uncomfortable plastic chair with his head propped into his hands, waiting.

He could still smell blood. It stained his shirt, the jacket he’d thrown on in the car only partially concealing the mottled pattern marked by the day’s events.

In this line of work, there was always inherent danger; he knew that every time he pulled onto site, each time he clipped his badge on in the morning. He was fine with that; these were risks he took for himself, mitigated and weighed against the greater good. It was harder when the risks were other people, those he cared about – colleagues, partners, even lovers. In the last three years he’d been here twice for Chloe; ex-wife or not, it hadn’t made the experience any easier, not when their daughter expected, in the simple world-view of a child, that their work was to keep the city safe, and that should go doubly for each other. He was never going to win parent of the year, but there were levels of failing and somehow, keeping your family alive seemed like a pretty basic one.

He’d never even had that chance with Charlotte.

Doors clattered and swung open, nurses pushing through as they hurried to the point of need, muttering about the heat, the holiday, the full moon and whatever else kept the ER spinning like a revolving door all night long. Nobody paid him any attention, not with his badge hanging visibly on his belt, so he waited in the midst of the welter and bluster for news to come to him.

He knew something had gone wrong. The weight of it sat like lead in his stomach and he’d stopped pestering the floor nurse when it became clear she really didn’t know more. But the walls murmured, and looks slid his way as the staff hustled, fragments reaching his ears that didn’t make much sense to him, but knew they weren’t good. Whispers of ‘abnormalities’ and ‘anomalies’, ‘unprecedented’ and ‘unknown’, _‘the unusual formation of the ventricles’_ and _‘even Bill at John Hopkins has no idea what to make of it’_. They’d come once and asked him what his relationship with Ms. Smith was, as he was not listed among her medical contacts, and whether he knew her next of kin. That wasn’t the sort of question asked lightly. Numbly he mumbled something about being work acquaintances, because at least that sounded better than his ex’s partner’s former ninja bartender, or the bounty hunter he occasionally hung with when he needed a little grey vigilantism in his life. They asked if he knew how to contact Mr. Morningstar, and he’d told them he was out of the country and unavailable. And then they’d left him alone, waiting.

That was hours ago.

His knuckles scrubbed at his temples. What would he say to Trixie?

“Detective Espinoza?”

He looked up and found a new Doctor waiting above, his body language neutral and face sober. “Yeah,” he affirmed. “Is she…?”

“Her condition is stabilizing. There was… severe chest trauma, and…. Well, frankly, I’m not sure how she’s not dead. See look,” he brought out a note pad and began scribbling a diagram. “These are the lung, this is where the heart is sitting behind the rib cage. The blade entered through these two ribs, puncturing the lung and continuing into what should be the left ventricle. Because a normal human heart looks like this–” he flipped the paper and began scribbling on a fresh sheet “– four chambers, this is the aorta and pulmonary arteries… really standard; we come across some variations from time to time and there are people walking around with abnormalities their whole life and never know… well, the echo imaging on Ms. Smith revealed she has… additional chambers. I’ve never seen this before myself, we’ll need to get in there with an MRI before we know exactly what’s going on. But here’s the thing!” He flipped the paper again and began a third time. “I don’t think I need to tell you that 90% of patients presenting with a penetrating cardiac trauma never make it to the hospital, and when she arrived, she presented as a patient who was for all intents and purposes, bleeding out; we’re in there draining the pleural cavity and the pressure’s still dropping, and at that moment you’re probably looking at sternotomy to get in there and repair the damage before we lose the patient, survival’s maybe 50/50 on the best of days. But then–” and by this point the doctor had begun to glibber, his face flushed as he returned to his scratch pad “--see that heart? see those extra chambers? The chamber that was injured stop pumping blood, and somehow, it gets rerouting through a secondary aorta. Patient stops bleeding out, pressure begins to stabilize. And at this point we’re all staring at the sonogram because that absolutely shouldn’t be what’s happening – but it is! And at that point I made the call to halt the sternotomy until we have better idea at what we’re dealing with, because I’m not about to cut into a patient with anatomy I don’t know when the patient is actively _not_ dying on my table.”

Dan asked the important question. “So - she’s okay?”

“She seems to have stabilized, yes,” he nodded, reining his early enthusiasm into a more professional candor. “She’s currently under sedation with an intubation tube in place while we’re monitoring heart and lung activity closely. You have to understand – we don’t fully understand what’s going on here, and it would be short-sighted to suggest she’s out of the woods yet. But right now, you are welcomed to see her.”

They were both silent on the way to the recovery room, where the doctor left them with alone, wrapped in the preserving hum of machinery.

Maze was so unnaturally still. Everything about the picture he was at odds with, her laying prostrate and unmoving with tubes winding around her head surrounded by and monitors and blinking displays. He’d known what to expect, but he still didn’t like it, seeing the people he cared about left to the fickle whim of mercy. But she was alive, and that counted for something.

He sunk down onto the nearby stool in silence, suddenly self-conscious. Would she even want him here, seeing her like this? Maybe staying was a violation of trust; they hadn’t always been on the best of terms. Not that they weren’t friends, but sometimes, he got the distinct feeling she’d like to kill him. Well, that didn’t exactly make him special – that was just Maze being Maze. She would have to take that up with Trixie, he decided. He pulled out his phone to fire off a quick message, then settled back into the silence.

The silence sucked.

“Soooo,” he began to the quiet room. “Hey Maze. It’s Dan. Not sure if you can hear me or not because you’re probably on some really nice drugs right about now. Got some news; the doctor says you have a heart. Yeah, I know, I won’t tell anyone about that either.” He almost imagined the eyebrow twitch, but that was involuntary under sedation. “Also, turns out you’re a bonafide freak of nature and I’m not even really surprised? Still doesn’t mean you can get away with acting like animal in polite company, but I might hold you to it from time to time.”

He glanced over at the bed, trying to ignore the tubes. It still looked wrong. Everything was wrong. He was on his feet, pacing from one end of the tiny curtained cubicle to the next, fingers digging at his hair in a tense, reflexive motion.

“It’s not supposed to be this, you're not supposed to be the one in here – you’re the one who laughs at danger and takes out an entire gang without breaking a sweat! You’re not supposed to be… so human,” words failed him. “You’re like this... crazy vigilante superhero. And Trixie thinks the world of you. And you’re probably the only reason I still have my daughter right now… Lord knows what happened out there, but I know you did everything you could to stop it. That you couldn’t… that wasn’t your fault. Because I don’t know anyone who gives as hard as you, and that fact alone terrifies me.”

Beside her bed, he forced his eyes on the evidence, marking every bruise and bandaged suture, like tally marks drawn for the inevitable pursuit of retribution. “We’ll find who did this,” his grimaced, because it was the kind of promise that was hard to keep, the kind that kept him up at night. He added it to the pile. “So you need to hurry back; not just because I’m gonna to need your help with that; you mean a lot to a lot of people, and they’re all really worried about you. And this, seeing you like this… this is really freaking me out, Maze.”

She blinked. Dan blinked. That… was a _really_ freaky reflex. And the fact that her eyes remained open... he peered in closer, oblivious the to machines that had begun to spike and blip on the monitors. She’d totally just blinked again. “Maze?”

He was grabbed by the throat with such velocity it winded him instantly, then yanked forward into the metal side guard with crack.

Trying to gasp, his vision blurred, he heard as much as saw the figure on the bed bolt upright, equipment yanked loose and clattering free from its anchors. Then she was clawing at the tape on her face as she retched and fought to breath. He remembered putting a hand out to try and stop her, but all that did was provide her leverage. She had him by the collar and his face smashed against the rail again, the other pulling on the tube and expelling the length from her throat with a wet, sloppy gush of air. By this point a nurse had arrived on scene, rushing forward only to be knocked out with a seamless back hook of the elbow.

Dan nearly regained his footing. _“Maze–”_ almost made it between his teeth. But then he was flying backwards through the curtain wall and a hundred pounds of fury was planted squarely on his chest, a scalpel – _where the Hell did she get a scalpel from?_ – pressed against his jugular.

 _“Maze!”_ he belted at her, deciding this was freaking him out way more but at least _this_ he knew how to deal with, “it’s me, Dan! _Stand down,_ Maze! It’s Dan!”

Something akin to recognition flickered briefly in her eyes. She tried to speak, coughing on the words until she could make them take shape. “Trixie– Charlie–”

“Trixie’s safe!” he relayed, feeling the tension ease at his throat ever so slightly. The next part however was probably going to kill him. “They took Charlie.”

He really didn’t expect to live. Or the next moment for Maze to straighten, releasing him to crumple back like a rag doll. “I gotta... go,” she rasped.

“Hold on,” he followed after her, his finger lighting on the arm that held the knife. It was probably a stupid move, in retrospect.

There was an alarm blaring somewhere, there were footsteps in the hallway drawing closer. Maze stiffened like a feral animal training her head towards the door, the over-correction causing her to sway. Her words raked across the silence like salt. “Must- get- Charlie--”

This time he grabbed the arm, mortality be damned. “Maze,” he levelled, the other hand held up in appeasement or maybe to signal the doctors who had burst in from the corridor. “You’re in the hospital, you almost died, we are totally going to get Charlie, but you gotta be able to walk first. Okay?”

Her eyes tracked back to his, the pupils blown from the meds but that didn’t stop the look of death that oozed her displeasure. “Fine,” she slurred, the scalpel turning over in her fingers. “First thing… morning.” And she then slumped forward like a marionette with its string cut and collapsed on top of him.

It would have been almost idyllic if the scalpel hadn’t buried itself into his arm. Seven stitches later and visit from what seemed like the entire on-call staff ensemble, several resident surgeons, the cardiology department, radiology, and a suspicious amount of interns, Maze was resting peacefully (meaning, that she’d agreed to not hurt anyone who was actively trying to to help her) and the hospital had reluctantly agreed to hand over her case history on discharge. Dan was back on the hard-topped stool, jacket folded underneath to give a bit of padding while he pressed a cold pack to the side of his face, and the hour hand on the wall clock dragging by in lazy intervals.

He’d texted Chloe to let them know they were okay. She’d texted back that Lucifer had arrived, and she was meeting at the Penthouse with Amenadiel in the morning to go over what they knew about the case. She said she’d call him when they were done.

And just like that, he’d been dismissed.

He stared at the monitors without seeing the numbers that tracked across the screen. It wasn’t that he was jealous – he wasn’t – and it wasn’t that didn’t want the best for them going forward – he really did. It was simply now, more than ever, the anchorless drift his life had become seemed to be pulling him back out to sea. He didn’t know what he wanted, so let the current tow him until control was so far relinquished it seemed impossible to reach. Particularly when he didn’t know what he was reaching towards.

He thought about Trixie, and remembered Charlie. His gaze returned to Maze.

Well, he’d certainly done worse things.

Amenadiel had left almost immediately after they’d arrived, he presumed to make some phone calls; that explained how Lucifer arrived so quickly. He’d cooperated with the cops, but Dan knew him well enough to know when he was holding back. There was more about this kidnapping he knew than he was letting on, but in his concern for Maze he hadn’t honed in on it. Well, if he wanted it to stay off the books, that was fine; frankly, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for his child, and he didn’t blame Amenadiel, not in the least. So whatever dark road they were about to head down to rescue Charlie, count him in.

“If you continue staring like that, I’m going to cut something real important with the next scalpel I get my hands on.”

He snorted. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

“About what?” she eyed him suspiciously.

“About how good it’s going to feel when we finally smash the guys who did this.”

Now she snorted. “They are _way_ above your paygrade.”

“Try me.”

“Fine; I can always use a human meat shield.”

“Glad it’s settled. Now you get yourself some real rest or do we need to terrorize the night nurse to up your dose again?” Turns out, among other things, Maze also had a freakishly high tolerance for prescription medication.

“Na, I relish the pain; it feeds into my core like a mantra, keeping my body keyed and its functions at peek precision and efficiency. Besides, I need to stay vigilant.”

“You know I’m not going anywhere.”

“Only because you have nowhere to go!”

He drew a slow breath. “Lucky for you then, I guess.”

She didn’t say anything else, but as the hand continued to tick its way around the clock, he noticed her eyes had closed and the monitors levelled into a steady hum. It seemed even psycho maniacs needed sleep, and he settled restlessly into the chair to keep watch as she slept.

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

He alighted on the familiar balcony with a restive sweep of his wings before shrugging them away with the familiar movement. It was exactly as he left it. How long had it been? He’d forgotten to ask. The clues pointed to several months here to what equated his ten years in Hell. Far too long, part of him cajoled, except, that when he left here he'd never expected to see any of this again. Well that plan had certainly gone poorly; par for the course for all his plans, really.

He definitely needed that drink.

Beyond the glass doors, a single security light held the apartment in subdued repose which he alleviate with a gesture. As light warmed the space he stepped inside, taking in the sense of home: the pristine lines of dark marble, the glossy curves of the piano, the furniture squared and orderly in a way Hell never provided; the smell of books, furniture polish, a hint of tobacco, the kiss of fresh linens… He came forward into the space, noting the absence of dust, a few things out of place like the throw lumped at the end of the sofa with a half-read book propped up against it, the plain-knit beige sweater thrown over the back of the chair. “Ah, what have we here?”

It smelled of her; and if the King of Hell stood in centre of the still penthouse with his face bowed against the soft fabric, no one would know otherwise.

As he stood there, he began to take stock of his situation.

First things first, he was not in Hell. Los Angeles not where he expected to be when he started his day, and he didn’t know how much time he had here as a result. His Father had never been in the business of punting him back directly, so that meant two things: he was literally free on his own recognizance until _a)_ the demons forced his attendance back, because they were demons, or _b)_ one of his siblings tried to send him on his merry way. Amenadiel had generally been the one tasked with him so his other siblings rarely paid any mind, at least until Uriel had voiced his concern about Mum; that had gone rather poorly for everyone.

Now he trusted Pan to manage things at least for a little while; his siblings on the other hand remained a variable. He recalled when Amenadiel had told him about Remiel’s visit, and regretted that neither of them had given it further thought. He regretted he had not been here to help him, and that his absence had also allowed the endangerment of the Detective and her Spawn. He’d been correct when he’d told Chloe they were safe, that his siblings only had interest in Charlie; what he wasn’t sure was if his involvement in Charlie’s procurement – if that were even possible – might amend that. He suspected however, that even if presented with this information, Detective would be willing to take that risk.

Because of course he’d have to go and fall for the most unwavering and stubborn person on the planet; perhaps that had been his Father’s jest all along. _Joke’s on you Dad,_ he thought with a glint of satisfaction, _turns out, I don’t even mind at all! So there._

There might have also been some irony in that too, but he chose not to examine it.

Besides, even more miraculous was that she hadn’t immediately sent him packing when she really had every reason that she should. Instead, she’d sent him home to get some rest and a shower, all tediously practical. He glanced down; at least at this point he wasn’t trailing ash on the floor, but the shower really was a splendid idea.

Resting, on the other hand – he didn’t need it.

Hell had been a hibernation, and now he felt as if he were just coming back to his faculties. Ideas had begun to churn and percolate, a heady rush of possibilities, and maybe it was the unexpected reprieve of being again on earth that awaken the senses, maybe the warmth of the kiss that left tremors spiking his pulse, an almost gleeful joie de vivre had began to spread through his body and he let it take him headlong.

Because protecting the Detective was _always_ his aim, and that hadn’t change, even if his angle had deviated. 

Perhaps, he could simply seize upon how he’d come to earth for Charlie’s aid (it wasn’t even _really_ a lie!)

And then he would work by the Detective’s side as they resolved this, like it were any old case, just like old times.

Maybe it was all a bit like pushing into a bruise, because of ticking time bomb that was Hell that would eventually go off, but he could deal with that later.

The minor details could be sorted while they went. It could all work out.

Perhaps this time, he could even be what she needed.

He grinned like a cat with a canary.

He was back.

Ash tickle his neck where it had lodged against his collar. Right. Shower first. Get the last remnants of Hell scrubbed away, _and then,_ then the it would time to let Los Angeles know the Devil was back in town.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

LUX stood, a familiar beacon against the LA skyline. Tonight that sky echoed with careless rockets and roman candles as the citizens of the city celebrated and rejoiced, a hearty intoxication of the spirit.

Inside LUX, the intoxication was catching. A night of celebration meant a crowd with singular expectations and conviviality, feeding off each other’s inhibitions and agreeability. At midnight the confetti cannons deployed and and painted the air in silver, blue, and red, and champagne was popped and toasts made while Jimi Hendrix’s enigmatic anthem filled the room in haunting solidarity. And then the lights and strobed and the swell rose again, the midnight hour had come and gone and the party-goers persevered, determined to chase that high until last call.

It was sometime after that the elevator doors parted and the owner of LUX – a celebrity here in every right – strode into the club and revelled in the ambience that was all his.

The shift in mood was instantaneous. The exuberance of the guests, the buzz and gossip on their tongues canting towards him with fascination and appetency, a school of fish drawn towards a light and the sea shifted, for he was by far the brightest lure in the room.

He swept down the staircase to the bar where his drink was poured before he arrived, turning to the room to drink it in – the sight, the smell, the taste of it, fresh on his lips and tingling on his senses, so long deadened by the static of Hell. Earth pulsed. It shivered and moved, pungent, a sweet ambrosia, and intoxicating. It was an explosion of colour, sensation, writhing against his skin. He drank it all in, standing motionless in the centre of the throng, letting it swallow him whole.

This is why Earth had always been his chosen home; there was no pretense here, just a rawness of elements, in a state of constant flux and fluidity. Anything could happen, anything could be made real, with enough know-how and determination. Anyone could be reborn.

And so the Devil stood in this bed of humanity and let the heart of it fill his soul.

The patrons surrounded him; they were drawn to him, and for now he indulged them, let them fawn over him, gush and offer sweet flatteries, brushing against him when they drew bold enough, their desire written on their faces. There was a time he would not have hesitated to indulge every inch of their desire (and he had the inches, it would not be said otherwise) but for now his fervor was curiously vested elsewhere. Perhaps it was the exhaustion of Hell that had yet to seep entirely from his bones; he didn’t think to dwell on it however, for desire was desire and he had many. The piano had been unsheathed and lay spread before him, a lure set in white and black ivory, and he drew towards it heedlessly, dropping before the keys with a lusty sigh.

His fingers rested on the keys and closed his eyes, feeling the notes bleed through his fingertips before he depressed the first key. Of all things Hell lacked, music was the most indefensible. Oh, Hell had music – the demons sang, had instruments even, crude implications of timbre and noise, but the aching heart of the melody remained elusive, the tune distorting in the memory and on the ear. In Heaven, too, the music took on a quality of its own; every note became an offering, every stanza a proclamation of worship. It was on Earth that music existed for no other reason than to please the ears, leavening the heart and pull together a long and vibrant history of song into a relevant and expressive notation of the day. So he played. He coaxed the keys under his fingers into expressions and extensions of his own exhilaration, filling LUX with the all brightness and gaiety Earth alone had ever provided.

It was not until he was done playing, and had returned to the bar where Patrick placed another tumbler into hands that the first inkling of dissonance formed in his review. He’d slipped through the crowds to the alleyway for drag, enjoying the cool LA night against his skin as much as the redolence of the cigarette, when a figure emerged from the street-side, their halting body language alone catching his notice.

“You’re _him,_ aren’t you?” they voiced; it was female, her shadow cut by the light shuttering in intervals as the streetlights drew lines along the alley’s length. “I saw you in there,” she began, “the way you tempt them, cajole them. You don’t fool anyone.”

He frowned, the cigarette butted against the bricks as he turned. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, darling,” he breezed. “Lots of people tonight, quite a lot of delightful beck-and-calling going on in there..”

The woman hesitated, and for a moment looked like sense would get the better of her and be on her way. But then her feet planting as she confronted him. _“For every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved!”_

“Oh bollocks; if you’re going to be spouting _that,_ might you at least do with _fun_ verses, like giving wine to those who are perishing, because I know _I_ am–”

“Begone, Satan!” She was holding something now, small and blunt, a wooden cross perhaps, as if it might protect her, like he was some sort of vampire to be expelled with the proper application of condiments, and the absurdity of this might have made him laugh if it had not been a tiresome rote by this century, and tonight he was worn and not at all in the mood. She advanced, her feet still stuttering although she seemed to find her voice. “They warned us of your return; they said how beautiful you’d be, appealing to our carnal weaknesses, seducing our bodies and our minds–”

“I assure you, I’ve never had to seduce anyone,” he rumbled, a low, dangerous sound even as he grinned. “People are always happy to just jump on board; by which I mean me. But surely that’s not the reason you’ve come here tonight, to run your tired little sermons? Tell me,” he stood in front of her now, capturing her gaze effortlessly and she stilled. “What is it you truly desire?”

The air hummed, and she stammered, but resistance was futile. _“My soul!”_

“Really?” he released her, turning away in disgust. “Once more for the people in the back: the Devil _has_ never and _will_ never be interested in your soul, despite whatever crock your Sunday School has been dishing out! They really need to get some new material...”

The woman stood in the lamp light, her hands still clutching at the cross. Composure returned slowly, and she shook her head. “You are the Prince of Lies. _We must believe not what our eyes see and ears hear..._ They warned us! _The guile of your web a lure, your word a bond, your mark clawed upon the flesh where spilled your ill-begotten seed and from its mortal host be torn, and so begins the breaking of the world, the end of days upon us–-”_

The hellfire was always just beneath the surface, a wellspring that Hell had kept at short disposal. It flared now, unabated, his eyes sinking into black-rimmed crimson red. Mortal flesh was well and good but Hellfire was relentless.

The reaction from the woman was instant. She froze, her hand flying before her face in a gesture of remorse, the words from her mouth streaming unintelligibly.

He took a breath, grounding himself. The woman continued to sob, slunk to her knees, and he left her there for security to find, the liquor suddenly tasteless in his throat as he turned back towards his club. The beat of the music punched against his chest as he opened the door, but it didn’t move him as it had before. He headed to the bar for another drink.

Reinstated, he stood with his back against the bar top, watching the seas of bodies undulate before him. It no longer offered any sensation, he might as well be watching demons dance, and even then that might have moved him. But the drink and soured, the evening had soured, and Earth remained a fickle place of both enticing potential and bitter defeats; he downed the rest of the glass with no taste at all.

It was then he noticed the square figure of his brother and the companion he brought with him snaking their way through the waving sea of people as if on a mission, their focus trained on the destination ahead. He snatched another drink. The joviality had gone from the evening all together.

He was standing before them quicker than a human could perceive. “Amenadiel,” he intoned coldly. “There had better be a very good reason for this…”

Amenadiel drew up in surprise, clearly not expecting to find the owner home. “Luci! I thought you weren’t coming–”

“What is she doing here?” he was no longer in the mood for quips, letting the opportunity fall wasted and his gaze on them impassive.

Behind them, Lilith removed the drape of her orange cloak, her expression unreadable as she looked between them. Amenadiel had planted himself before his brother, noting the edge of flames that held behind his eyes. “Lucifer, I think she can help Charlie.”

“Oh, do you now?” he glared at both, downing another shot of tasteless spirits. “You do realize what she _does,_ don’t you? What she’s capable of–”

“Enough,” Lilith minced, sweeping up to his towering frame with the quiet resolve of centuries laid bare. “Don’t you _dare,”_ she chided him. “You of all people should know better than that; we are not so different. We were both wronged, both framed unjustly, and both bore our judgments down in Hell. I gave Amenadiel my word that I would help him, which is something I think you will also understand. This is no concern of yours, and I expect you to respect the bonds in play.”

He stilled, but with fury still burning behind his eyes.

“This is for Charlie,” his brother began again. “I’m sorry if you don’t approve of my methods, but I didn’t think you were coming. And I had to try. I will _still_ try,” he pulled himself straight, standing toe to toe with the younger angel, his visage growing to fill the space. “I will do _anything_ to assure the safe return of my son. Are you going to help us or not?”

His brother had been hailed the Greatest Warrior of Heaven for no small reason, and he stood before him now with no shortage resolve; even the Devil knew when to give pause.

“I never said I wouldn’t help,” he huffed.

Amenadiel smiled. “Thank you. I’m sorry if I… deceived you.” His gaze fell on Lilith again.

Under their scrutiny she eased, her gaze reaching over the sea of LUX below. “It has been such a long time since I was last on Earth; I didn’t realize I missed it,” she mused quietly.

Lucifer frowned, following her gaze. She was never under his jurisdiction to begin with, her movements through Hell and Earth were of her own making; he had only ever intervene when he caught her in an act so deplorable it warranted the attention of the King of Hell. Otherwise, she was no business of his.

Yet now – now this city, this mortal plane, felt dear to him, and the thought of her loose here to wreak her will left him uneasy. Which was ridiculous, because if it ever came down to it, Lilith was essentially human, and he was an angel. Yet her ken dipped down into the roots of Hell, and she had found an understanding there, long before he had graced its skies with his presence. He had every right to be wary.

And yet… Amenadieal stood at his side, silent, but he eyes imploring.

And Charlie was taken.

And the Detective… the detective still thought the best of him, for no reason he could fathom.

“Alright,” he spoke coolly, letting his authority settle over them; to his delight both responded, their attention drawn to his person. “I will do what I can for Charlie; and Lilith can remain here so long as she too is committed to this cause; I will tolerate no disobedience on her part, is that clear?”

Lilith’s eyes were cold, but she nodded. “If it is what you think fit, then I will adhere to it.”

“Very well,” he took the last swallow of his drink.

Amenadial alone bloomed into a clear, buttling smile. “We were headed to the penthouse to do some research; I honestly didn’t expect to find you here. But I’m glad, Luci, this means a lot to me.”

“Well, you know me, doing whatever I can to accommodate,” he allowed a tight smile.

They turned towards the elevator, leaving him alone on the floor again.

But the sea surrounding him had become distant, a memory of something once sustained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never re-worked a chapter so much in my life u.u  
> I'm not convinced it still doesn't need another work-through, but at least it's finally posted!


	8. A Garden Adverse

_In middle Earth, a Garden grew._

_In the Garden stood a Tree, an ancient tree whose ancestral roots reached down through the stratas of the realms to where the well of the worlds still pooled with darkness, and its column stood firm in indefectible alignment, its branches pushing up to breach the boundaries of the sky and bloom, like clusters of tiny constellations spangled through with hallowed light. It was difficult to say whether the Tree grew here because of the Garden, or that the Garden grew up around the Tree, but it was a sacred thing, this Tree of both shadow and light, with Hell nestled in its roots and Heaven tangled in its branches._

_It was in the Garden God retreated to ponder a most curious thing: that of his creatures, both the beautiful beasts and hellish monstrosities alike – all lacked that divine spark which Angels possessed intrinsically. And try as he might, Earth teemed and Hell grew full of crudely formed misshapen things and a host discomforting failures._

_In the Garden He slept, and when He did, He dreamed: the Tree bloomed with a halo of eternal flames illuminated in a fusion of light._

_God awoke at once, for at last understood._

_He called Goddess to His side, exuberant with excitement. It reminded Her of the times before, when it had been Their own children He delighted over, Their dreams marvelled and shared and woven harmoniously throughout the echelon of realms. It reminded Her of when She had been happy, and She wished They might be again._

_He plunged Her hands into the fertile clay to feel the soft earth between her fingers, sensual and sublime in its most basic element, and beseeched Her, lovingly, to She create with Him again as They had before; She remembered this. And because She loved Him, so She did, and let creativity flow from Her again._

_In these new creations She found Hope, and forged that resilience within each one._

_Goddess brought them forth, and God shaped them, and together they were blessed. Together they made Adam, named for the Earth, and Lilith, named for the Air, and they_ shone _, of hope, of potential: humankind._

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

The petals fell, softly as snow, blanketing the ground with paper-whites.

It was rather pretty in the beginning, collecting on the pristine walkways and swirls of dancing rivulets across the plazas, painting the rooftops of the Silver City in delicate peels of gossamer. The Angels remarked, casually, as they brushed off their cloaks or shook the petals loose from their hair. “Beautiful,” they said, “a thing of wonder” and “Praise Be, this new miracle of Father’s design!”

At some point the petals began to drift, filling crooks and and overflowing crannies, clogging gutters and accumulating against the side of buildings where Morael gathered and formed them into loose spheres, which she and Adnachiel began flinging at each other and other angels, until Michael put a stop to that. He then summoned Haniel personally, and instructed him to ‘fix this’, to which Haniel replied that he was just the gardener, and that the Tree was apt to do whatever it bloody pleased; this wasn’t to say that Haniel was unsympathetic, but that his sympathy was more directed towards the Tree.

This was, after all, _the_ Tree, that had bloomed since time immemorial and held the grounds of Heaven in an embrace of endless spring. Oh, there were still seasons here – gentle things, the way they are written about in romance poetry where winter is as soft as a lover’s kiss and summer warms with the tender radiance of the soul; the Tree ignored both the poetry the seasons and blossomed continuously, the blossoms illuminating its branches like fireflies. They sparkled in the sun and shimmered in the moonlight, and when there were neither they glowed with a light that was uniquely their own. It had always been.

Then one day, the petals had begun to fall.

One by one, the lights guttered and the buds shrivelled, the blossoms released and drifted downwards on the breeze. But Haniel was _just_ the gardener, and they’d ignored him when he’d first voiced his concerns. It was just a phase, they said, trees had those; it would likely pass with the summer’s solstice and become a footnote for the books, a marvel to be taken at face value and enjoyed. Now that the blossoms littered the streets of the Silver City in a rustling carpet of mounting pearlescent leaflets it suddenly became a problem. Mostly his. He’d done what could, sent servants to sweep the worst of it away and that seemed to appease almost everyone, and that seemed the final say on the matter.

However the blossoms had never stopped falling, and as the host of angels gathered in the wide, open amphitheatre that lay in the eastern quadrant of the city overlooking the Garden proper, the blossoms fluttered down in abundance, a constant, ardent steam.

But they were not here to talk about the blossoms; those were still being ignored.

Michael flicked them from his shoulder as he waited for the hubbub to settle, then chose to disregard them all together. He was standing centre stage, gazing up at the seats filled with his brothers and sisters. They spread before him in a plethora of diversity, a testament to creativity and the joyous expression of form that was the embodiment of their divine parentage: the angels of Heaven were formed in every exploration type, both currently known and those races long forgotten by Earth’s fickle history.

Moreso, their appearances differed too in a curious expression of age-related traits (or what would be considered age-related, if they were mortal). Amenadiel had recently submitted a treatise on the Philosophical Process of Self-Actualization, which suggested that an Angel’s form was influenced by the way said angel viewed itself. Perhaps then it was no surprise that Morael appeared young and wickedly enthusiastic about almost everything while Harahel had been stoically pepper-grey since the day he was formed.

The attention of this assembly was not on him, however, but on the object that was tethered to the chair behind him.

At first he’d put it on the table, but it kept flopping over in the most undignified manner, and that had made them both upset. It was Gabriel who’d quietly suggested the chair, and so the straps of the carrier had been slung over the back and was being suspended by the ears. Now that the object of appeal remained upright it seemed to take the situation in stride, gaze shifting from Michael to Gabriel and then to the gathering host in the seats beyond.

Michael decided he had waited long enough, and he held up his hand for attention and the amphitheatre fell still. “Brothers and sisters,” he began. “I have summoned you all here today to rejoice, for the folds of Heaven have been graced, a new celestial welcomed into our great collective with open arms, for he is one of us and owed every opportunity Heaven can provide. Behold, the first born of our Father’s First Born – _Charliel–”_

“Charlie,” Gabriel corrected quietly.

 _“Really?”_ Michael turned. “What kind of name is that? I’d expect something from the likes Samael-whatever-it-is he’s calling himself now, but fancied more out of Amenadiel…” Nevertheless he amended, standing back to indicate the baby with a sweeping gesture of his hand, _“Charlie!”_

The angels began to murmur amongst themselves. It had been the talk of the city for the last several hours now, from Michael’s entourage heading earth-side, to the mysterious bundle they’d brought home, to Amenadiel’s furious arrival and departure and now, as they sat around and took the first glimpse at the small, plump interloper in the midst.

“It’s a baby!” Diniel exclaimed.

The outburst gave the crowd leave to clamour at once.

“Are you _sure_ that’s a celestial?” “It’s so small…!” “It doesn't look like ’Meny…” “Oh, Heavenly Father – _it’s adorable!”_ “Does it smell funny to you?” “What are you going to do with it now?” Michael held up his hand again and waited for order to resume.

There was the gentle hush of wings and as Amitiel lighted on the stage beside them. She regarded the scene, Michael standing rigidly and the baby looped over the back of the chair where he’d begun to fuss again, chewing on the cushioned lip of his carrier. “I am correct to presume that our brother Amenadiel was not in favour of this… arrangement?” she peered from one to the other with her haunting violet eyes.

“He was not,” Michael confirmed. “It was a matter of contention between us. Unfortunate to be sure, but the greater good must prevail, and the well-being of a Son of Heaven upheld above all else.”

“I see. So the well-being of Charlie did indeed supersede the well-being of Amenadiel, if I am to extrapolate from the exchange.”

“Well, yes,” he frowned. “Again, were there any another way I would have embraced it; there is no delight in dissension with our brother. But the fact remained that Amenadiel… well, his motives were in questions. He has spent much time on Earth, and he’s… changed.” Michael shrugged lightly.

Amitiel tilted her head, silver hair cascading around her ageless face, considering her bother’s words even as she smiled. “Now Michael, simply because our brother disagrees with you, it does not imply he’s Fallen.”

His lips were thin, but he knew better than to rebuke the Angel of Truth. “Be as it may, decisions needed to be made, and they were done with only the Greatest Good in mind. I merely finished what was started, succeeded in producing change where both Uriel and Remiel failed. And it is indisputable that Charlie’s well-being is only benefited by his being here, in Heaven. Especially now, in these times.”

Their brothers and sisters had grown quiet watching the exchange, but here the hushed murmuring began again as blossoms drifted through the afternoon. “Has Phanuel released further speculation on the matter of the Revelation?” she queried.

“You know Phanuel; he hates to speculate. So it’s unlikely he’ll do so until he has absolute certainty, and by then the culmination of events could have arrived upon our threshold; I prefer the breadth of preparedness.”

“I will dispute none of that; Revelations are, by their very nature, a fickle thing.”

“Indeed,” he muttered, brushing distractedly at a blossom that had adhered to collar; he was no longer wearing plate armour, but his shoulders were draped in a cloak like a Roman Centurion. “Would be nice if they arrived once in a while with a definitive sign.”

Amitiel returned her gaze to the baby, considering him thoughtfully. “We’ve never had a baby celestial here before.”

He turned, eyes alight. “Do you think…?”

“Oh, no,” she chuckled easily. “I only meant that it must present quite a unique challenge. We know very little about the nature of infants; they are so different from us, unformed and especially helpless. They require for nourishment, and they are reliant on their caregiver for much of everything. Not that it isn’t anything you can’t handle,” she assured passively.

“Right,” Michael frowned.

“Very well; I will withhold my judgment on this matter until more information has come to pass.” She unfurled her wings, spread with the soft glimmer of violet like her eyes, and with a slight nod to Gabriel left her brothers to each other’s counsel.

Now Michael was gleaming again. Amitiel’s endorsement – or in this case, her indifference – meant there would be no breaking of ranks should Amenadiel choose to petition the convocation again. His mood spread with the grin across his face, lifting his eyes to the auditorium where his siblings still sat, still waiting, hungry for his next words.

Instead, Charlie suddenly let out a long, lugubrious mewl.

“What was _that?”_ Michael startled.

“I think he’s hungry,” his brother hypothesized.

“And I told you to bring the scones.”

“And I did; however, he hasn’t got any teeth.”

“Hasn’t got… that’s disgusting,” he declared under his breath. “Alright, this won’t do at all.” He returned his attention outward, perusing the rows of seats until he singled out an angel in the crowd. “Akriel! Darling sister, I have I got a job for you!” Akriel, voluptuous and bronzed like the Venus of Willendorf, roused her head from her palm at his summons. “How would you like to take our newest little heaven-sent addition under-wing?”

She blinked rapidly as the full realization of what he was asking came to view. “Oh, brother – this is quite beyond me, I _couldn’t!”_

“Nonsense! You are the Angel to whom woman have prayed for countless millennia! If anyone here knows about babies, it’s you–”

“Oh, I can see how you would think that,” she nodded astutely. “Common misconception; you see what I did there? Yeah, I’m all about fertility, but I’m really more theoretical type of gal, you know? moon phases and period trackers and the whole lot; I don’t really deal with the... _end game product_ , so to speak. Sorry, bro.”

Michael frowned, his gaze shifting to find Diniel, but somehow the angel could not be spotted in the crowd.

“I’ll take him!” Moreal squeaked, eyes widening with possibilities, her red curls shivering around her head in eagerness.

“I appreciate the offer, Mora, but I frankly I wouldn’t leave an air fern in your care,” he pressed his fingers between his brows. “Ithuriel?” There was a pious but adamant refusal from the stands. “Armisael? Nuriel? How about you, Hadraniel ol’ bro? This should be easy for you, by comparison…Gabriel?” he turned at last.

His brother mused, “I would take him, however I hardly consider myself knowledgeable in the needs of an infant, and to offer him anything less than heavenly care would be neglectful. Perhaps we should fetch someone with more experience – one of the human souls could serve adequately, and set them up as his nursemaid until–”

“Absolutely not!” Michael flinched, causing Charlie to whimper again. “It’s bad enough he has a human mother, the last thing I want is him being reared by another human! But I see your point. Well said. Who then among us knows humans best of all?” He considered for a minute, ignoring the blossoms as they caught in his hair or the crowds as they began to exit the auditorium in droves. His eyes lit up. “But of course. _RAE!”_ he summoned. “Azrael, your presence, please!”

There was long pause, followed the most timid flapping of wings, and then the youngest of their sisters was standing before them with her hands wringing nervously, eyeing the two as if this were some sort of a trap. “Hey Mikey, Gabe, you rang?”

He let the irritation of that particular nomenclature roll off his back. “You missed the entire council meeting again, didn’t you?”

“No? Maybe some of it? Okay, I did _mean_ to come, but you know, dead souls, they keep you hoppin’...”

“Which is actually why I summoned you now,” he grabbed the segway by the horns. “You see, of all our brothers and sister, _you,_ and you alone, are the most qualified on the affairs and functionality of humans.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she winced. “It’s mostly just the dead ones I know, and they’re kinda going through a rough spot in their lives–”

“Nonsense; your expertise is unsurpassed. Who alone but you is with humans day in, day out–”

“You know Amenadiel–”

“He certainly does not count. And even if he did, this is not the matter for him. Behold, Charlie!” And he stepped aside to reveal the baby still dangling from the chair.

“Holy fishsticks! That’s Meny’s baby, isn’t it? Is Meny okay? What’s he doing here?!”

“All in good time, Azrael,” he grinned as the petite Angel of Death swept up to the carrier to get a closer look. “Nothing is wrong with Amenadiel, however, Charlie is going to be staying with us, and as the undisputed expert on humanity, this arrangement simply makes sense.”

“Peek-a-boo... _Oh!_ That actually works! Look at that!” she grinned as Charlie did a full body flex, his best expression of glee with the limited coordination allotted by his rank. Glancing backwards as his words caught up to her, Azrael stilled. “...what arrangement?”

Michael flashed his thousand-watt smile. “This one. You. And Charlie! He’s too small to left wander about Heaven on his own, you must see that. And he _deserves_ to be with someone who _understands_ him. Anything else would be… well, inhumane!”

“Whoa-whoa-whoa! Hold up – you want me… _to babysit?”_

“Well, I don’t know if you have to sit on him–”

“Mikey! I have a job! A really _busy_ job! I can’t take care of a baby–”

“Nonsense!” he strode over to the chair and grabbed the harness, turning towards his little sister. Charlie, delighted to be moving again, let out another squeal. “Arms up,” he ignored the further eye roll as she complied, fitting the straps over her shoulders and locking the clasps behind her back. “There you are! He’s portable.”

“I really don’t know about this,” her eyes travelled to Gabriel, who had become immediately fixated on a stray petal attached to his shirt. She looked back to Michael dejectedly, but he’d won and he knew that, smiling smugly and with the airs of victor. “Did you even bring his stuff?” she relented sombrely. “He smells like he needs a diaper changed.”

“See, I don’t even know what that is!” Michael crowed. “This could not have worked out better. Oh – a few notes. It might be best if you keep him _out of sight_ , at least for the next little while. Amenadiel was... unsupportive of the strides we had to make, and I would feel horrible if he were to take that out on you or the child. We don’t truly know what he’s capable of, wouldn’t you say?”

“I dunno; what has Father said about this?” she spoke quietly.

His frown reappeared, the lines creasing his perfect forehead. “The same thing He says on almost any matter. You know how He is.”

“Yeah,” she sighed.

“Wonderful! Now that that’s settled, there are other matters I must attend to,” Michael clapped his hands, indicating to Gabriel it was time to go. The other rose slowly, stopping in front of his sister and the baby to touch both upon the chin in parting. By this point the amphitheatre was empty too, until only Azrael and her small charge remained.

“Stupid Michael-face,” she stuck out her tongue in their departing direction.

Below her chin Charlie strained his head around to peer up at her. Azrael sighed as she regarded the chubby cheeks and wide brown eyes.

“You stink, dude,” she finally addressed him, calculating the location of the nearest Walmart this side of Heaven; Charlie just grinned. “And of course you think that’s hilarious; you realize we’ve both just been punked, right? Like big time? And Michael’s up there just patting himself on the back about another job well done. Yeah, this probably _is_ hilarious, although the joke’s _definitely_ on me.”

She unfurled her wings, and Charlie squealed again.

“You like that, huh? You know you’re not setting the bar very high,” she had to grin, because he was still staring upwards at her with an adorably concentrated look in his eyes (on second thought, she really hoped he wasn’t pooping). “I suppose I should cut you some slack, because you seem pretty new to this whole human-celestial thing. So how about you? Can you do it? Wings up, Charlie!” she flashed her wings again, make a tiny flapping gesture with her hands.

Charlie did his full body flex-off, but that’s all that happened.

“Guess not,” she shrugged, and as another whiff hit her, decided it was really time to procure some diapers. As it was, she was expecting a shopping cart-related accident to pan out in about 20 seconds, so if she played the cards right, she could do the pick-up at the same time. Who knows, maybe she could make this all work out...

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

_Longest elevator ride ever._ Chloe pressed her forehead against the glass so she wouldn’t have to confront the infinite depths of self reflected back in the mirrored cubicle, which was the last thing she wanted to examine this morning.

It didn’t help that she’d gotten next to no sleep last night, with Trixie wedged against her side like a small furnace and the bed unfamiliar and unyielding. Then her stomach unsettled despite coasting smoothly the entire week before and by dawn had given up altogether. When she returned from the washroom she found her mother was also up, wordlessly making coffee to pass her a mug. They sat for a time in the comfortable silence around the kitchen table, warmed by the broad reach of morning’s golden sun.

Trixie bounced in not long after that, still wearing grandma’s oversized comicon t-shirt she’d slept in. She wanted to text dad right away to see how Maze was doing and Chloe had nodded, knowing Dan probably hadn’t slept much either. They were soon rewarded with an exclamation of with glee; Trixie hoisted the phone above her head to reveal a complicated string of emojis which could only have come from Maze.

She left the two texting back and forth and went to check on Linda, who murmured something unintelligible at her from under the lump of blankets; at least this provided some assurance she was okay – insomuch that she was still breathing, not that she was actually in any way _okay._

Then in the hallway she met her mother again, but Penelope only wanted to affirm that everything was fine here, if she wanted to head out...? 20 minutes later she was in the Uber, and shortly after that she was home again, flinging off yesterday’s clothes while she brushed her teeth, showered, then agonized over her closet, then make up, then changed again, ate second breakfast, changed again, found her phone, and changed again before finally tapping the screen to pull up her messages.

Her fingers hovered over the familiar bubble, the string of texts sent to dead air. She spared herself the grief of reading backwards, and finally began to type.

_Did I dream last night or_  
_are we still on for today?_

Her stomach wobbled when she hit send, making her regret second breakfast. She suddenly felt silly, because who knows if he’d even thought about his phone last night or reactivated it, and there was no reason to believe he’d even be up–

The typing icon appeared, and the message blinked onto her scene the moment after.

_So you usually dream about me?_  
_I think I need to hear more about_  
_these dreams, Detective 😈_

And she’d burst into tears. Big, ugly tears, wet and sloppy and running away with whatever semblance of makeup she’d painstakingly applied, flushing the months of grief and mercifully flooding her neural pathways with oxycontin and endorphins. She considered another outfit change while she worked herself back to a sense of composure, a breathy sigh racking her lungs. When she finally felt calm enough, responded curtly:

_I’m on my way._

–then scrambled to redo the make-up (the outfit however stayed put) and had made it across town well before traffic and now found herself in the elevator, not staring at herself.

She still looked wrecked. And he would look perfect, because he was a goddamned angel, literally, and what was she supposed to do with that? _Stuff it._ That’s what. Stuff it deep and dark and down into a tiny corner of her consciousness because it was not going to do her a damned bit of good. _You’re not here to try and impress him, like some fawning patron at LUX,_ she chided, her inner voice sounding refreshingly brisk for an otherwise weary morning, _you’re here to deal with much bigger issues._

Like Charlie.

The elevator dinged and she wiped the smudge from the glass with her sleeve before the car opened.

He was turning as walls parted, and yeah, he did look perfect in an impeccable three-piece suit with coiffured hair and whisky glass balanced in hand. “Detective!” spilled warmly from his lips with a show of joviality that seemed just a touch overborne, except the way his eyes held her was tender. Moreso, he gazed at her as if she were something treasured, in wonderment, and was that relief? confusion? intermixed with the notes of his delight. And if that didn’t do something to inside of her chest then–

“Good morning, Chloe,” Amenadiel’s greeting was more subdued, understandably.

She’d forgotten he’d be there somewhere in the moment and almost startled. He was not alone either, sitting across the coffee table from an unfamiliar woman, the table between them spread with old books and leather-bound journals (were those actual parchment scrolls? yes, they were) and looking even more the mad wizard’s desk than hers had, even during those terrible first days. The woman’s appearance was ageless and oddly indifferent, which offered few clues to how she slotted into all this. Then she noticed her clothing seemed strange and out of place, not so much in an LA way, more, well, other-worldly. And it hit her – _another celestial._ No wonder Lucifer was tense.

“Ah, right,” he followed her gaze. “Might as well get this over with. Detective, this Lilith; Lilith, the Detective. She’ll be helping us with Charlie. Now would anyone else like a drink?”

 _Lilith._ She knew that name; in the books there were stories, tangled somewhere alongside myth and existing in strange fragments. “You mean, _that_ Lilith? It was all true?”

“Most assuredly not,” he scoffed. “Not unless you also consider _Gulliver's Travels_ to be an outstanding eco-travel guide. But yes, my father’s attempt at Humanity 1.0; will it be whisky or vodka with that revelation?”

“Coffee,” she shook her head. “Actually, do you have decaf?”

“How long have I been away?” Lucifer looked somewhere between aghast and personally affronted but set about to secure said beverage from the kitchen without another word.

She moved towards the couch as Amenadiel returned his attention to the manuscript spread before him. “How you holding up?” she asked softly.

“I’ve been better,” he supplied. “Is Linda…?”

“About the same,” she squeezed his shoulder. “You should call her.”

“But I don’t have any good news?”

“That’s okay; she knows what you’re working on. It would just make her feel better to hear your voice,” she smiled.

He nodded slowly, rubbing his face with his palms as he made the decision. “I could use a break,” he rose from the settee, fishing his phone from his pocket to duck into the back library.

She sunk into the empty space with a sigh, feeling suddenly exhausted again herself.

“So you’re _‘The Detective’,”_ Lilith began.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” she slouched into the deep seat, eyes closing as her hand traced absentmindedly across her stomach.

“A pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

She cracked open an eye. “How do you know about me? Do people in Heaven spend all their time watching Earth? Like, some deluxe, live-action cable suite–”

“Heaven is astonishingly unconcerned about what goes on in the other realms,” she chuckled. “Mostly, Lucifer tends to ramble on about things at great length.”

“He definitely does.” She straightened abruptly. “You were in Hell with Lucifer?”

Lilith nodded, but the gesture was noncommittal. “We run in similar circles.”

Her own flinch was involuntary and she wasn’t entirely sure why. “So you’re a demon?”

The look soured. “No.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I just thought… and there was this really crazy situation with Eve…”

“Eve’s always been rather beguiling.”

“Mmm,” it was Chloe’s turn to bob noncommittally.

“You’re different from what I pictured,” Lilith at last conceded, after they’d sat with their thoughts in silence. “I like that. I’m not often surprised by people.”

Before she could ask what she meant Lucifer reappeared, turning the cup in his hands so she could take the handle. The steaming coffee was decadently topped with whipping cream and caramel drizzles and smelled, well, heavenly. “The decaf was a bit of a challenge,” he said, “but I think you’ll find it to your liking...?” He was smiling, but there was a tension at his brow as if he were extremely invested in the drink, or at least her acceptance of it.

She grasped it wordlessly and took a sip. _Perfection._ It was the best goddamned coffee she’d had in months, if the sound that escaped her lips was any indication. Lucifer’s face went from pleased to preening to something else entirely in the span of about seven seconds before he cleared his throat conspicuously. “So! What have you ladies been discussing?”

“Just small talk,” smiled Lilith easily.

Chloe, who was still having a religious experience over the coffee, only murmured into her mug.

Amenadiel returned from the Library still looking fatigued, but his expression now was thoughtful. “I spoke to Linda; she says she has faith in us. I think we can do this.”

“I’m glad there’s one of us,” Lucifer muttered, but mostly under his breath. “Did you find anything new in here, or was the night spent stripping the shelves of my study bare done in vain?”

His brother returned to the coffee table, scooping up the manuscript at the top. “Well, not conclusively…” Lucifer made a small noise of exasperation.

Chloe roused herself from the mug, peering at the mess more critically. “What exactly _have_ you been doing?”

The brothers exchanged glances. Amenadiel took the floor. “We’re going to out-manoeuvre Michael at his own game. He’s the one who took Charlie,” he explained.

She waited. “And you’re going to do that by…?”

“Well, Michael values rules and order; balance; also that humanity and the divine are suspended in their own distinct and segregated realms. I admit there may have been a time when I shared similar views,” he dipped his head here, “but I have since learned so much _more;_ Earth has opened my eyes, and when I returned to the Silver City with Charlotte, I did my best to share this with all my brothers and sisters. I thought I had turned a few ears. But.. well, when I tried to reason with Michael over Charlie, and explain all this to him, again… I didn’t stop to think how that might have sounded to someone who hadn’t undergone this same… enlightenment. I may have come off a bit… manic.

“I realize now I was going about it the wrong way. Instead of trying to force him to change, what I need to do is appeal to Michael’s sense of divine order, and show him that Charlie belongs with his family, and his family belongs on earth. The rules about humans and the divine mixing… well, they’re not hard and fast rules, more like guidelines, open to interpretation–”

“Probably because Father simply couldn’t be bothered to make up His bloody mind one way or the other,” Lucifer snarked.

“–and so, if we can find within these sacred texts a passage that pertains to that order in a _positive_ light, well, as they say – _as it is on earth so shall it be in heaven_ – and it may just give us just what I need to really make him see the reason.”

Chloe frowned, running through the facts again in her head.

“His plan, not mine,” Lucifer downed his glass.

Lilith slid forward in her chair, bracing her elbows across her knees. The look was suddenly familiar, and suddenly predatory. “And when all of that fails horribly, I get to go in and snatch him.”

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

“You know, no one is going to think worse of you wanted to go home and like, change or something?”

Maze gave him a look, one that said less that his comments were unappreciated and more that she was going to cut him again, or she would have if he hadn’t made her give back the scalpel. She was wearing his jacket; it did cover up most of the injury site, but her halter top (which had been sliced from her on the operating table) was being held shut with staples. Somehow. She’d also refused every suggestion he’d made at the hospital gift shop.

“Fine,” he shook his head, putting the car into park and turning off the engine. They were in the parking garage below LUX, where security had waved them by and Maze directed him to the reserved spots near the elevator where the Corvette and Chloe’s Dodge were neatly parked. Dan was still in his clothing from the last night too, the blood smear creating a dark rorschach blot across the front of his light striped shirt. His jaw worked as he sat in silence.

 _“You_ don’t have to come,” Maze smirked.

“I’m coming,” he opened the door.

She shrugged and followed, the muffled slams echoing through garage. “Pretty sure it’ll be _hours_ of Lucifer and Amenadiel whining at each about how they’re gonna handle it. Charlie’s already out of _our_ reach; it’s more a matter of how to get him _back_ in reach.”

“You seem to know a lot about this.”

She shrugged. “I’ve had a first row seat to Lucifer’s family drama for millennia. I know how this goes down.”

“Wait– this is– family?” he slid to a halt in front of the lift doors. “You’re saying, his _family_ did this? _Jesus…”_

His face had paled, and Maze took a step back in case he was going to puke. “He’s more like a third cousin, twice removed. We don’t talk about him.”

Dan had covered his face with his hands. “Lucifer and Amenadiel’s _own family_ are behind Charlie’s kidnapping. And you…” he gestured at the surgical bandages peeking just below her rib cage.

 _“Duh,”_ she shoved him aside and pressed the button, bristling with impatience as the elevator made its way down.

They were inside the lift before Dan spoke again, his voice still small. “Just, _fuck._ What about Chloe?”

“What about Chloe?” Her eyes narrowed. “You guys have been really weird lately, what’s going on? Wait, you’re not trying to move in on her–”

“No! _No,”_ he repeated, backing away. “She and Lucifer– she’s pregnant–”

She’d already slammed the button slugging the elevator to a halt. She also had a scalpel again, though he had no idea where on her person it had been hiding. But her expression had frozen, weighing the new information as if to see where it factored into her planned maneuvers. The grin that spread across her face was maniacal. _“Really?!_ Does Lucifer _know?!”_

“I don’t think so?” he hoped that was the right answer.

She cackled and pressed the button again, slouching back against the glass. “Oh this is going to be _so_ good…”

“Don’t say anything!” he paled further.

“Wasn’t planning on it. Kinda of hope I’m there with this all goes down… Poppa Lucifer! _Little Lucifer Junior!”_ Then her face slid abruptly and she smacked it back against the wall. “DAMMIT! Something _else_ I have to love! Why do you humans keep doing this to me?!”

“Yeah, it’s all about you,” he released the breath he was holding between pursed lips. “That’s why I’m going to punch him, by the way. Just so we’re on the same page about this.”

Her features lifted instantly. _“Are_ you?”

“Yeah,” he gave his shoulders a roll as the bell dinged. “I am.”

The grin stayed fixed on her face as they exited the lift. “Mazikeen!” Lucifer turned to greet them brightly, “and the Dou–-” and Maze clocked him square in the jaw.

Dan looked completely bereft.

Chloe and Amenadiel scrambled forward, but the angel placed a hand on the Detective’s shoulder to keep her from wading into the melee.

 _“That’s for abandoning me! And leaving her!”_ Maze flourished, punctuating each point with a blow. _“And this is for–”_

 _“Bloody Hell, Maze!”_ Lucifer stumbled from the first cuff and caught the second, but blocked the third as her knee came ramming towards very sensitive regions. “Don’t you see the _Detective’s right there;_ I think you broke something, maybe a tooth–” He deflected the next shot and braced her arm, holding their position to glare at each other before releasing her back into the room.

“Give me a chance and I’ll _break them all–”_

“I’m glad to see you too,” he wiped the blood from his lip.

“Maze – you’re bleeding,” Chloe finally did step forward, pointing to the trickle of blood that had begun to seep from the bandages and down her midsection. “Why don’t you have a seat for now, and you can always finish this on a day you haven’t just had heart surgery?”

Mazikeen’s gaze slipped from her former Lord of Hell to the woman entreating beside her. Carefully she smiled, sinking dramatically onto the bar stool. “Fine, _mom.”_

Dan coughed.

Chloe turned and noticed him for the first time. “Oh God, your face–”

“Dad hadn't anything to do with that, meanwhile _I’m_ the one who’s been hit–”

“–what happened?” she pried, sizing the black eye and swatch of surgical bandage taped across his arm.

“Ask River Tam over there,” he pointed. “Last night was stressful.”

But instead of colouring warmly at the compliment, Maze’s face had gone slack. _“Mom…?”_

“Mazikeen,” Lilith acknowledged.

And hell broke loose a second time.

Somehow Maze was airborne, having launched herself from the stool like a coiled spring, brandishing the scalpel in one hand and in the other a short knife she’d pulled from beneath the bar. The snarl that swelled in her throat was inhuman, the words that followed in a language as old as sin, and she thrust forward with the blades trained on the woman standing motionless in the centre of the room, watching her come.

Then Amenadiel stepped into their path and snatched the demon from the air. Furiously she throttled him; he absorbed both the blows and momentum without flinching. Instead, his arms wrapped around to pin her to his chest even as she kicked, repeatedly, straining against his hold.

“Maze, she’s here to help Charlie. _Please,”_ his voice was barely audible above the struggle. “We need the help.”

Maze stilled like stone. “You need _her?”_ There was a tenuous quality to her voice that seem out-of-place with its speaker.

“I can’t refuse,” he said, and now that they were calm, “I’m going to let you go.”

The blades struck the floor with a sharp, metallic _thunk_. Maze shrugged herself free, but her eyes stayed low, glancing around the room like a caged beast without making contact with anyone. “Whatever,” she huffed. “But I’m not working with her.” She let the jacket slump from her shoulders and made to the elevator without a word. The doors closed on silence.

“I’ll take some air,” said Lilith reading the room, and excused herself to the balcony.

“Lilith is Maze’s _mother?!”_ Chloe knew her jaw was still hanging. “You could have led with that!” She turned to Lucifer incredulously, “and you _should_ have at least _told_ Maze she was here!”

He made a sound that suggested her lack of sympathy for _his_ plight was disappointing. “In hindsight, maybe,” he blotted away the last of the blood. “But I always find it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission, particularly with Maze.”

Dan shook his head. “Not cool, man.”

“Says the lost member of the Beach Boys.”

Chloe pinched the bridge of her nose trying to direct her focus again when her phone went off. She retrieved it mechanically and brought the message on screen. “Oh no…” Dan was immediately over her shoulder and Lucifer had forgotten about his face to gravitate to her side. She opened the picture Ella had just sent from the crime scene. “We officially have a serial killer.”

The third body was dressed similarly to the previous victims looking eerily like a tableau from a high-school production, draped in an over-sized white gown and crowned with a garland of flowers; the woman’s head was bowed, soft curls covering her face, her body held in place by two gruesome restraints on each side. She was nailed to a cross.

Lucifer grimaced, his voice low. “Rather on the nose, isn’t it?”

“Shit,” Dan exhaled.

“I’ve gotta go take this,” she apologized, wincing to herself as she gathered her belongings. “I’m so sorry, Amenadiel; I’m not sure how helpful I was really being, but I want to assist you on this, and I’ll be back as soon as I’m done, maybe a few hours, tops?”

“Not everyone can read Sumerian,” he acknowledged graciously.

“Trixie’s still at my mom’s,” she turned to Dan. “Crap, she needs a change of clothes, that completely slipped my mind this morning–”

“On it,” he nodded. “I’ll grab her some when go I change, then meet you back at the station.” He turned to Amenadiel, who had returned his attention to the table. “Hey, if there’s _anything_ I can do here...”

“How’s your Sumerian?” Amenediel perked up.

“Non-existent.”

He took it in stride, glancing towards the balcony. “It’s okay, Lilith and I will keep at this; you’re a good friend, Dan,” he smiled, sad but genuine. It seemed to relieve some of the tension that had been building since the day before and Dan finally nodded, ducking towards the elevator. He gave Lucifer and Chloe a look, then closed the doors.

“Nice to see Daniel’s still the same old Dou–” his words were cut short because the Detective had suddenly grabbed him by the face. He realized he’d failed to follow the _why_ of this, but on reflection decided that really wasn’t an issue because he’d willing let her grab whatever part of him she fancied–

“That doesn’t look too bad,” she was appraising Maze’s handiwork, it turned out. “It would heal better once I’m further away, yeah?”

Her fingers grazed his cheeks as she removed them, and he immediately felt chilled without her touch. “N-no,” he insisted, but she continued to make preparations to leave. “It’s barely a love-tap! Maze has done _far_ worse during sex–”

“Don’t need to hear that,” she shook her head.

“I suppose not,” he agreed. “What’s this case, then?”

She’d dug an elastic from a pocket and was pulling her hair back into its usual ponytail. “Do you remember about a year ago, there was a case involving a fringe ministry and a dead teen; the father confessed to it, but it never felt _closed?”_

“Ah, how is the good Reverend doing these days?”

“Possibly even more fanatical; I think you inspired him.”

“I _am_ that.”

She ignored him. “Well, last month another woman was found dead with the same m.o., who also happened to be in the ministry’s care; and now, victim number three. If she also shares an association then either someone is targeting women from the church, or, someone within the church is preying on these women.”

“Well, you already know how I feel about praying in church.”

That did elicit him a smile, though it soften into something wistful as she considered him. Then she was shaking her head and moving towards the door. “I guess you guys have your work cut out for you here. And, I’m really sorry to have to duck out like this…” she blinked, working her jaw before spoke. “But like I said, a few hours, tops…”

“I’m bloody awful at Sumerian,” Lucifer blurted.

 _I’m bloody awful at Sumerian? Really?_ he cringed inwardly. Not a jaunty quip about extracting confessions from clergymen, or a sweeping declamation about his expertise as they applied to the case, but at least he’d escaped dropping to his knees and confessing his own dark sins that had seen him through the worst of Hell, infused with the memory of her soft caress and the sound of his name upon her lips…. No, he’d gone and declared his deficiencies in deciphering dead languages, and now she was looking at him, face scrunched, as if he were an exceptional kind of idiot...

“It’s true,” he professed, committing. “Can’t read a word. Ask Amenadiel.”

“He’s lousy,” his brother confirmed.

“Oh. Really?”

“Even I have my limitations, Detective, as hard as that may be to believe.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

“Of course. Wait, what?”

“Your limitations.”

“Well it’s not as though–”

“Like Sumerian.”

“Oh, that.”

She took a breath. “Did you… want to come along on this case?”

The look he gave would have undone her heart, if he didn’t already possess all the pieces completely. “I would; if you’ll have me.”

“Alright,” she breathed softly, then, grounding herself. “Alright, the faster we get it done, the sooner we can be back here and help your brother. And, I really appreciate whatever help I can get with this, before anyone else winds up dead.”

“Then let’s go and catch us a killer!” he beckoned impatiently towards the lift, eager to be on the move and not at all concerned that she might just as quickly changed her mind, if given the time to reason. He’d begun to wondered if the giddiness he was feeling was because of the whisky ramping up in the Detective’s presence – it _had_ been building all morning so that was probably the case? And it helped him ignore the other worry tucked at the back of his mind, an indistinct feeling that warned against the possibility of contentedness, this false lull of security, that reminded him of duty, of deeds already levied.

That Hell still waited for him and Heaven hadn’t forgotten what he’d done, and that what he was doing here would defy them both.

And then, that despite everything he had done wrong, that he had _this_ – the Detective, by his side, somehow, even still. He didn’t even know what _this_ was, what they were to each other right now, but he would take it, any and all of it.

The doors hissed open and they stepped inside together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I went back to work this week, so that's exciting I guess? Feels weird after quarantine XD I still have the best intentions of updating weekly, although I might have to keep the 10K chapters to minimum; brevity, however, is not my best trait! 
> 
> Hope everyone is still staying safe out there <3


	9. Deckerstar Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapter may be mostly shenanigans and fluff.

_There is a difference between chaos and disharmony; the first is the primordial state of all things, before there were Gods and Rules and Order; Chaos is not the corruption of elements but a natural state of disorder, without malice or intent._

_Disharmony results from an awareness that_ something _has gone wrong._

_And awareness is the point when consciousness recognizes itself, contrasting the similarities and differences between itself and others and of the world around them._

_When dissonance first rattled the harmony of the universe and began to weave through the primal realms unchecked, this oversight might be forgiven, because until God created Order, Discord had been unknown._

_In the beginning, when first he lit the stars, it was enough for the young angel that stars simply were; so secure was his devotion in The Plan, he wanted for nothing and he questioned nothing._

_But an unexpected thing happened when his Father’s presence grew distant, and his Mother’s smile faded like the colours from a rose; an awareness surfaced within him, filling spaces he had never known were empty. And with it came a question: if God was Good, than the absence of God was_ something else.

_What, he did not yet know, but none of his siblings seemed to care, and as he stood apart from them, stood alone on the precipice of that early dawning, it was as if his old sense of self had fallen away and in its place was someone he did not fully recognize, yet would not be content until he knew all the reasons why._

_If God noticed this, He said nothing, and that was part of the problem._

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

There are so many songs written about the Devil that you can find one to suit pretty much any function or mood – from balmy blues to rock’s measured heartbeat, meandering ballads that weave through every era and every other genre in between.

It’s also not surprising that even more make mention to the road, that sinuous black snake that winds through the American psyche like it did the Garden long ago, and for the traveller who finds themselves on this road, temptation’s the heat of summer sun, the rushing wind, and slick composition of glass and chrome.

The car is usually dark, usually a convertible, a symbol of sinfully refined elegance, artfully silhouetted against sol’s glorious inferno.

And the Devil in these tales? Those differ most, but none would disavow the distinguished figure, sleek and dark and dangerous, whose salacious grin both draws and captivates without so much as a word.

Which goes to show that not all the songs were correct.

For starters, the Devil is rarely, if ever, verbally contained.

And the car currently in question was a department-issued grey charger with a pleasant amount of oomph under the hood, and he was riding shotgun. Not exactly up to the notoriety of the music, although providing a different level of badassery with the underbelly of the city caught a little wearier in his wake.

What all fail to picture however is the Devil sticking his head out the car window and shouting at people on the street.

“Lu–– _Lucifer!_ Get your freakin’ head in the car, _right now!”_

“But that was Marco! I haven’t seen Marco in _ages!”_ he withdrew from the window and flopped bonelessly into the seat. “He says ‘hi’ by the way, and that we should come by the bistro for dinner; makes the best paella this side of Valencia, you know.”

The only reason she didn’t facepalm was because both hands were on the steering wheel, mostly to keep her from doing anything else. Like smacking the Devil in the face.

Instead she took the moment to breath. “I know you just got back from Hell, but here in LA it’s still frowned upon to stick your head out of a moving car, even you haven’t seen your friend in months–”

“Years, really. In Hell,” he clarified when she looked at him. “Since time there moves differently.”

“How differently?” her voice was small.

“Oh, a decade I guess. Give or take a year.”

Her hands wrung around the steering wheel again. They stopped at a light. “Ten years?”

He shrugged indifferently, his gaze roving over the strip, observing pedestrians and cyclists and seagulls darting about their mundane lives, bustling with life and colour. “Green light, Detective.”

She released the break and eased into traffic again. “Lucifer…”

“It’s alright. What’s ten years to an immortal?” he shrugged again, catching a glance as they turned onto the next street. “It’s not like I haven’t been before. Why don’t you tell me more about this case?”

She nodded, adjusting something at the bottom of her sunglasses. “Right, where were we?”

She brought him up to speed as best she could while both driving and denying his constant appeals for detours. While he didn’t stick his head out the window again, he didn’t hesitate to point out every other food truck they passed (“But Detective! I haven’t tasted any of Pedro’s yummy Tacos all the while I’ve been in Hell!”) or new storefront that caught his eye (“What have they done with the place, you know we could just pop in for a look-see–-”) to reading aloud the various advertising billboards they passed with a passion even Trixie, who, with Maze, would sing along to all the most offending radio earworms, had never fully cultivated.

By the time they pulled into the lot beside the old church she remembered why she’d considered buying fidget toys and planting them throughout the car’s interior. And that she needed to restock her glove compartment with snacks because he’d already eaten them all. On the one hand she was ready smack him, but on the other she was so glad he was here that it was hard to remain objective. Provided he continued to keep all of his appendages inside the moving car.

She pressed her attention towards the old church building in front of them. “Site’s around back. Info says the grounds were used by another parish for out-programs and retreats, but the building was sold last year. Developers have slated it for a tear-down. Some kids found the body last night when they were setting off fireworks in the back lot, but didn’t call it in until this morning because they were worried about trespassing.”

“And here we are, the beneficiaries of those guilty consciences,” he approved. “This is beginning to sound just like old times!”

“Yeah,” she frowned, her own conscience suddenly performing a belly-flop. “You know, there’s something-–”

But he was already out of the car, striding up to the old bell tower. “Detective, look at that! It’s still got a bell in it! You know it’s been a right long time since I gave one of those a good yank. Actually, you might be surprised to learn the amount of yanking that goes on in a bell tower; gives a bit of a twist & pop to the whole idea of the brotherhood, doesn’t it?”

She watched him, expression set, fingers drumming a rhythm on her stomach. She followed wordlessly out of the car.

In the small courtyard behind the church they found an overgrown garden that at one time must have been someone's pride; now it had gone mostly to weed, the rosebush sprawling and unkept, the raised bed shrivelled from lack of water and flowers giving way to pigweed and thistles. A few large succulents seemed to be thriving despite the neglect, but asides from some hardy clumps of scrub grass the current theme was decay, the garden a shadow of its former splendour.

Opposite the back of the building was a small stone dais backed against an ivy-covered wall. The roses had climbed there too, the dais thick with shrivelled petals. The large cross stood in the centre and body hung in suspension, another dead thing, the buzz of flies defining both life and death.

“Do we know who our victim is?” Chloe found Ella with kit in hand, swabbing gently at the body’s splayed fingers.

“Ashley Reiner; 24 she was reported missing by her maternal grandmother two days ago. The body’s been here at least 24hrs already, and I’d put the time of death around the same time. And our perp is escalating; see here?” she moved a few inches down to indicated the horrific spike wound centred in the palm, “see the blood? That’s because the heart was still pumping when that nail went through. She was strung up here alive.”

“Amateurs,” Lucifer grimaced. “Everyone knows you to nail through the wrist joints; much better for weight-baring that way, particularly if you intend the torture to last more than a day.”

“TMI, big guy,” Ella popped the swab into its capsule and numbered it with a sharpie. “Although that is some key-level Historical Society stuff there, but Luce– _Lucifer?!”_ she nearly dropped the capsule when she spun. “You’re back! Holy fishsticks, _when did you get back?_ Do you have any idea what you put us all through, upping and leaving like that! I don’t know whether to smack you or hug you–”

“Maze went with the smacking,” he supplied hopefully, but the small force of science had already pummelled herself into his chest, ensnaring him in a surprisingly fierce hug.

“Dude, you are _so_ out of practice,” Ella quantified the quality of the hug, giving an extra nudge as if to coax it out of him.

“Why ever would the Devil practice hugging?!” he huffed, mostly, because she’d squeezed him again.

“Oh, _you_ know,” she grinned.

Behind them, Chloe was rapidly shaking her head.

“No?” Ella frowned, and Chloe nodded. “Yes?” and back to shaking, “no?”

“I assure you it’s no,” Lucifer ever so gently pushed her away and contained her at arm’s length until he was sure she wouldn’t spring back into him like a rubber band. He glanced back to Chloe who was suddenly fiddling with her hair, no help whatsoever. “But enough of this – how are _you?_ Anything new and exciting happening in your world whilst I was away?”

She had that deer-in-headlights look again and Chloe forgot to breath.

“Margaret laid and egg! But then I couldn’t eat it, because it was like, _Her. Egg._ So I buried it in the tree planter in front of my apartment, but then a dog must have dug it out or something and it got rolled down the window grate where it exploded and Mrs. Welland called the fire department because she thought it was a gas leak and the building got evacuated!”

“...you most certainly live in interesting times, Miss Lopez.”

Beside them Chloe had returned to stare at the body again, bringing her sleeve up to her face to guard her hyper-sensitivities against the smell. “There’s something in her mouth,” she said.

Ella reacted gladly to the distraction and bounded back up the dais. “Oh – nice catch, Decker!” She snapped a handful of pictures before moving in to work gently at the ridged jaw. “It looks like paper… but I’m gonna wait to get her back to the morgue before we pry that any further; right now, she stiff.”

“Well really can you blame her,” Lucifer grinned lasciviously from behind, and they straightened slowly to turn and stare at him in unison. He drew a breath. “Right... so, this is the part in the investigation where you continue to do your fine detail-y stuff, and I go pester the unis until something more interesting happens.” Then he was off and tromping across the yard, cheerfully calling out to the officers as he went and receiving warm welcomes and acclaim in kind.

Ella spun, removing her gloves with a snap. “Chloe, spill.”

She made a face. “Well _pardon me_ if somewhere amidst all this _crisis-management_ I haven’t had the chance to have a _life-altering_ conversation with my co-worker who–”

The colour had drained from the other’s face. “Oh God, _Charlie!_ I’m so sorry, I saw the pictures from the scene and everything, like, holy crap! Is Maze okay? I meant to ask as soon as you came in, but then Lucifer was there–” she took a breath, “I totally meant to slap him, I totally did, but then love won out, y’know? But like, that’s so totally insensitive of me…”

The sudden hug was meant for her as much as herself, but Chloe didn’t object. “It was bad night. But Maze is… mostly fine, not unsurprisingly. And Amenadiel and Lucifer are putting all their resources into finding Charlie. We’re doing what we can.”

“You know I am praying for you guys; and I’m so here for you, and the department’s doing everything they can, but man… poor little guy,” she let go to dabbed again at her eyes. _“Twice!_ What have Linda and Amenadiel every done to deserve that?” She cast her gaze upwards, silent words on her lips.

Chloe watched, conflict working through her own features but she held her peace. Instead, she let her anger dissipate and moved to stand up-wind of the corpse, not wanting her stomach to rebel a second time today; at least its rankness worked to keep her grounded in the present. “Do we know if there was any surveillance on this place?”

“Actually – yeah,” Ella roused herself. “There’s a security cam the construction company put up, but it’s on the other side of the building. Maybe it caught what vehicles entered the parking lot.”

“That would help us; and I’ll check into what info we have on our vic and see who’s contacting the next of kin. Maybe Lucifer and I can talk with them today, and start piecing together how she fits in with our other two victims.”

She looked up to see that Ella was smiling at her. “What?”

“Sorry, can’t help it,” she gushed in spite of herself. “The two of you, together again and back on the case like old times... Deckerstar’s rising and it’s gonna be _fireworks...”_

“Yeah, just like old times,” sarcasm frosted her reply. “Now where did he–”

The church bell reverberated through the old building, startling the pigeons into flight and prompting everyone to turn. Chloe took another moment to compose herself before she went in to retrieve him.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

Turns out, the Devil can be easily lured from a bell tower when promised full authority then tasked with the selection of lunch.

Which ended up, much to the Detective’s surprise, not at one of the bustling food trucks he had been so adamant about the hour before, but a cozy bistro that was conveniently in the direction of their next stop, tucked off the beaten path just enough to muffle the city’s steady hum. By that point she was starving anyways and would have been happy so long as the place had a working washroom that had been cleaned sometime since the last recession. And off course Lucifer also knew the owners (“Hello, Marco!”) and they were immediately given the best seat in the house – a table at the open bay windows overlooking the parkette – and the dishes lavishly brought forth were ordered without a menu.

He insisted she try everything – grilled artichokes and savoury herb cheeses served with warm flatbread, colourful paella on a bed of rice that had just enough spice to remain settled in her stomach, roasted peppers and plump olives, greens drizzled in sweet balsamic and spiced fruit salad – before Marco was once again by their side and asking if they’d like dessert. She’d shook her head at that point, but somehow got bartered down to dessert-to-go, and now they were back in the car with a small white box sitting on his lap, the delicate caramel custard contained within. The bill had also never managed to appear and Lucifer was smiling most smugly, but that could be because he’d already opened the box, stabbing into the custard with rapt attention. She was reminded briefly of the marshmallow experiment done with toddlers and had a hunch her partner wouldn’t pass.

“So, no flan in Hell?” she surmised as she navigated back into traffic, curiosity getting the better of her. “What is the food in Hell like?”

“Tastes like ash,” he plopped an enormous bite into his mouth and savoured before answering, “if you’re lucky. Mmmm, Marco’s an artist with eggs and cream; you need to try this...”

“Lucifer, I’m driving. I swear if you get flan on my shirt–”

“I’ll lick it off,” he provided magnanimously.

She refused to have a reaction. Mostly because was sure the one she was already having would be obvious on her face and she didn’t want to draw his attention. Because the notion that he could produce a reaction by suggestion alone was more satisfaction then she wanted to give him in the situation, mostly because she wasn’t even sure _what_ their situation was.

Last night she’d kissed him, and she was so _sure_ he’d reciprocated in kind; she hadn’t misread that, had she? Or worse, imagined the moment, like the remnants of some fever-dream pushing onto reality with desperate tones she refused to give voice to. Because he’d been down in hell for ten years. _Ten years._ How could they reconcile that time? What had he been through since last they’d spoken on that balcony? And she was suddenly furious about how unfair it was, to him, to her, that she had been left here with that pain burning sharp and bright, and he had had literal _years_ to contemplate what that night meant to him.

The light ahead slipped red and traffic rolled to a stopped.

“Here we are, mostly caramel just the way you like it–” the utensil protruded into view, heaped high, his free hand hovering beneath to snag the drips.

Ten years in Hell. Ten years without LA’s brilliant sun and the colours it poured down kaleidoscope streets, refracting against glass and steel; of heady ocean air bright with salt and surf, breezy avenues striding with kinetic energy; ten years without music, all the reedy highs and sonorous lows and jazzy melodies wandering everywhere in between – everywhere, the incessant clamour of living and life.

Ten years in Hell and here he was, spending his first day back on Earth cramped in a police car spoon-feeding her caramel custard.

It was also really, really good custard, and she didn’t even really _like_ custard.

“There! Tell me what you think, and I’ll pass on the glowing review–– Detective? Is something wrong? Do you need to spit it out? Here, let me get you a napkin–”

She shook her head, waving him off until she’d swallowed. “I’m fine!”

“Then why are you crying?!” he alarmed.

“I really love caramel,” she sobbed.

“Oh,” he considered the information. His eyes hadn’t left hers, and now that some of the initial panic had dispelled, they warmed. “I do love caramel too,” he passed her the napkin anyway.

Behind them a white SUV honked zealously, because the light had changed some time ago and the lane ahead had emptied. It was with an immense degree of satisfaction that she leaned over and blurted the car’s flashers at them, where upon they promptly discovered they weren’t nearly in as big a rush as they’d previously expressed, and waited politely in place until the cop car had pulled away.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

“If Ashley was as chummy with her roommate as the superintendent so helpfully supplied, then you have to wonder why _she_ never reported her missing.”

By ‘helpfully supplied’ he definitely meant he’d Lucifer’ed him while she was in the washroom, which she hoped meant his desire mojo and not something she’d have to explain in the paperwork later that day. “She could simply be away,” she suggested, stopping in front of room 306. “Or they worked different shifts. Or slept at a boyfriend’s,” she raised her hand and knocked.

The door opened almost immediately by a short, slightly plump young woman. She was dressed primly, as if on her way to work as a mid-century kindergarten teacher or to host the library bake sale. “Oh. Sorry, not interested in whatever you’re selling.”

“Do I _look_ like a common huckster?”

“LAPD,” Chloe held up the badge. “Erin Jones? I’m Detective Decker and this is–”

“Lucifer Morningstar; not a huckster.”

“We have a few questions about your roommate, Ashley Reiner; do remember when you last saw her?”

Erin visibly paled. “Ashley? Huh, the weekend I guess. Is she in trouble?”

“Do you have reason to believe she would be?”

She shrugged, but it was more from embarrassment. “Ashley was really sweet and all, but she had some... _other_ friends…”

“And what were they into?” Lucifer gleamed. “Joy-riding in cars with boys? Larceny? Reenacting truly deplorable Mel Gibson productions? Really, the man should have just stopped in 1999 and the world would have been none the worse for it.”

“Can we come in?” Chloe pressed more gently. “Perhaps we should sit down.”

She looked like she wanted to refuse but nodded briskly, which was how they found themselves in the tiny living area, looking very much like first apartments the city over – small, sparsely furnished with Ikea sensibilities, one section of the central room divided by a floral curtain – “Ashley’s room,” Erin explained. “She drew the short straw.”

“She does seem to have a penchant for that,” Lucifer mused, giving the small space a once-over before flouncing down beside the Detective on the narrow couch. If it caused her to rock into him briefly before she straighten, it was worth stern look she sent him.

“These friends Ashley had,” she steered the conversation back into a productive direction. “Would any of them have wanted to harm her?”

“W-well, yeah; I mean, they went out to parties. With drinking. And THINGS.”

“Oh no, not _things–”_ but Chloe elbowed him.

“What kind of things are we talking about here?”

“She definitely came home drunk once; _completely inebriated._ And then there was the sex, but that _did not_ happen here,” Erin shook her head vehemently, fidgeting on the ottoman she was seated on. “Has she been arrested?”

The Detective glanced over at her partner who was doing everything to remain silent. She sighed and brought out her phone, pulling up a photo from the crime scene. “I’m afraid Ashley was found dead; we’re trying to find the people who did this to her.”

The reaction was immediate and honest. Erin crumpled, her hands flying in front of her face to blot out what she had seen. “Oh God, she didn’t deserve that!”

Now Lucifer did speak. He leaned forward, and it felt as if the air in the room curled around him, an awakening of primal energies that rippled and ebbed towards their quarry. “It’s strange, what we think we deserve, or what others deserve, as if all the complexities of a life lived can be whittled down to one little point of reflection. My Father’s design, naturally, believing everything could be defined in tracks of black and white. But that’s not true, is it Erin? For between the two there are enumerable shades of grey…”

“Nnnoo!” she stammered, transfixed. “There’s right, and there’s wrong. I did what was right!”

 _“Did_ you now?” he purred, and she couldn’t look away. “You goodie two-shoes, you! Come on, you can tell me. What did she deserve?”

“I just wanted her to learn from her mistakes. To repent – I wanted to _save_ her! And maybe… _maybe_ she could suffer, maybe a little bit…?”

 _“Who are you to decides who suffers?”_ he was a towering presences and she recoiled, even before the hellfire lit his eyes.

 _“Not like that!_ I could _never_ hurt her, she’s like a sister, like family–”

“Oh, because family is always so kindly to one another…”

_“Lucifer.”_

He was unaware of when the flames had begun to lick across his skin, when the angry flesh seared his features and ground his voice to bone. The skin of the earth fell away and he could feel nothing but the furor of his injustice, until a hand gripped his arm and reminded him of something else.

Of light that illuminated instead of burned, a promise held within the oceanic depths of her eyes.

The flames extinguished.

She released her breath, slowly, hating how it rattled to escape her lungs. But she didn’t let him go, fingers steeled and digging creases into the rich material of his suit. The eyes that held her were dark and human, even if the man before her was not. Sometimes it was easy to forget; other times she wondered how she could have convinced herself he was anything less. For even now his presence filled the small space, and if auras were real his bloomed with colours intangible to the human spectrum where a moment ago they had burned with a terrible glory, of rippling static that prickled gooseflesh with tiny teeth and made hair stand on end. Instinct still curdled the human part of her brain and demanded to flee, to cower, to shrink away, even as she wound her grip tighter. That hadn’t escaped him either. Now he shifted, pulling back into himself and concealing everything beneath humanity’s austere mask.

He turned to look where the woman lay on the floor, limbs tucked into herself as she rocked. “We may have overreached; she’s clearly not wearing any shoes.” He glanced towards the Detective but he didn’t meet her eyes. Then he gently extracted herself from her grip, and saw himself out of the room. The door clicked shut behind him.

She waited until her heart had returned to its normal beating. Then she retrieved her phone and called it in.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

She found him again leaning against the side of her car, his figure cutting a sharp profile against the hazy rays of afternoon heat. A cigarette dangled between his fingers, which he flicked and ground beneath his shoe at her approach, his body language squaring off even as he raised his head to acknowledged her. Clearing the porte-cochère, the ambulance chirped once before pulling away.

“They’ll hold her under observation for tonight,” she began, a-matter-of-factly, “I’ll see if Dan can get in to talk to her before she’s released. Although I really don’t think she had a hand in killing Ashley.”

“Perhaps not directly; the guilt was real.”

“Yeah, but that only means she feels some kind of responsibility, which could mean anything – that she didn’t do enough when she thought Ashley was in trouble, or maybe they had an argument she feels bad about–”

“You needn’t lecture _me_ about mislaid guilt, Detective.”

She clamped her mouth, but nodded, slowly. The car creaked as she leaned her weight against it. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” he brushed off the question. “Granted, maybe a touch light on the ol’ devil-trigger, but only because I’m out of practice; and if you look at the big picture, nobody was dangled out a window or left tearing down street in their underwear, so I’d say we’ve really come out ahead.”

He could feel her eyes on him but refused to offer more than a roguish grin, taking the time to adjust his cuff links with fastidious care. That way he wouldn’t have to look at her while she stewed, his fate precariously held within her extracting gaze.

Would she send him away? It was certainly within the realm reasonable plays. What she had needed was a partner, not the once and future Lord of Hell tagging at her heels with all the unspoken baggage that brought with it, and for all he clung to notions of altruism, he knew he was only here because he was self-serving and unable to resist his vices. She should definitely send him away. It would be for the best, before this day got any more complicated, before he remembered even more reasons why he wanted to remain present by her side.

Before Hell could follow him _here,_ too, and tarnish what few truly good memories he had left.

Finally she was nodding her head, bringing her hands together to steeple in front of her as she spoke. “Alright. Look, there is certainly a time and place for devil-face, but… let’s try to keep it at like, a level 8 on our interview priority list.”

The sound he made was probably a laugh. “Have you been so bored without me that you’ve itemized the interview itinerary? This is really what you do with your spare time?” He released his breath and formulated it into what he hoped appropriated a deprecating sigh, but his lips were quirked and he couldn't stop foolishly grinning. “Alright, then… how many levels are there altogether? And at which level do we get to try roll reversals? Because I’d really like to see you play the bad cop for once; oh – could there be outfit changes? And what happens at level 11?”

She shook her head, but elbowed him before heading over to her side of the car. “Hurry up and get in. Dan texted a while ago – Amenadiel and Lilith are at the station. We should probably go see what that’s about before anything else gets out of hand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, a short (but sweet?) chapter, but I did some shuffling and think it's a nice breather before everything that comes next.
> 
> Particularly with the next two chapters topping out at 10K a piece... u.u
> 
> Fingers crossed that work doesn't eat me and I can keep to my writing & editing schedule, but apologies in advance if the next arrives a little bit late!


	10. The Shoot and the Thorn

_Perhaps Humankind was an attempt to atone for what had already gone amiss – God and Goddess brought them forth, blessed them, and left them in the Garden to bloom._

_But cycles unbroken, repeat, and that which was contemptuously sown, grew._

_Adam and Lilith quarrelled, and Lilith, unbound, abandoned Eden._

_In those days God was passionate, driven, fixated on His many projects and experiments; He was exacting and impatient with His failures and the failures of others, and now as He stood in the Garden He trembled, for He had done so much, given so much, and in return wanted so very little._

_He wanted Goddess to smile again, to say Their Creation was Beautiful. But Goddess smiled so very little now. And Lilith had woken in her being the Goddess’ volition, and in her rebuff of Adam, She defied Him._

_God was Judgment, swift and sharp, and so it was decreed: as Lilith had denied Adam his birthright, so too was she denied hers – that no child born of her womb would inherit that divine light, and all would die in totality._

_Lilith was from that day forth a woman cursed, a splinter broken from the Tree and wedged deep into the antediluvian psyche._

_What God took, Goddess tried to restore, but Humankind had held a mirror up to the Gods – formed in Their own image – and shown each Their limitations. Without Him, She could not make Lilith whole again; and without Goddess, God could not create the Divine from Nothing._

_And so, Eve was born of Adam's rib, and Humanity began again._

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

“I still can’t believe she’s Maze’s mother.”

“Only because you haven’t seen her in action; then the similarities are uncanny.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” the Detective allowed, taking the opportunity to pull on her jacket and brace for the blast of air conditioning that awaited below. The door shut on the parking garage and the elevator lugged into motion. She glanced at him sidelong before she elbowed him again. “And here I was assuming she was your old girlfriend from Hell or something...”

“Oh. Well that was a long time ago.”

Her expression scrunched, the look particularly unreadable.

“A _really_ long time,” he frowned.

“Maze... _and_ Lilith–”

“Not at the same time! Although, on the topic of mother-daughter pairings–”

“Ew _gross_ ,” she injected as the bell dinged. The doors swept open onto the busy precinct spread below in all its frenetic glory, the usual hurricane of activity and exchange.

Lucifer took the opening to beeline for the railing, providing an expansive view of the bullpen; he drank it in, appreciating the consistency of the place to have marched duteously on in his absence, just as he remembered it. It felt familiar, content. It was almost as if this were another small piece of himself, a piece of what made this place home.

He turned as the doors began to shut again, Chloe finally stepping from the lift and made her way to his side. He knew it was a ridiculously soppy thing for the Devil to do, but he couldn’t help smiling softly as she did. Of course she was the reason that all of this mattered to him, and while he had less trouble exacting the moment she had become inseparable from his every sense of being, it was somewhat more confusing to realize that somewhere along the way, the rest of her life had as well. That it had so effortlessly become a part of his life, that somehow despite his endless drift, chasing the climatic highs earth so lavishly provided, it had brought him slamming against her door, run up against the tidy pace of her orderly life and quiet routines, and yet, within them he felt elation that compared to nothing he had experienced before.

She came to stand beside him, absently smoothing back the hair that had become loose around her ears, which she did when she pretended she didn’t have a headache brewing, or that the exhaustion of the day wasn’t getting to her. He frowned, noticing where the skin creased around her eyes, her careful makeup covering the purple smudge weariness had painted there. What she needed was a partner who could help to ease all the strain she’d never admit to having in the first place. Movement caught his attention below; Amenadiel and Dan strode into view, though Lilith remained momentarily unaccounted for. Probably something he should get on top of. He turned back to the Detective, knowing immediately how to help.

“How about you go get started on that nice, quiet paperwork, whilst I go deal with my brother and whatever it is he’s gotten up to?”

“Gee thanks,” she wrinkled her nose, but she didn’t protest, watching him scurry down the stairs two at a time before starting down herself. He caught Amenadial by the arm, sequestering him off to one of the interview rooms by the time she made it to the floor. “Hey Dan,” she plunked down into her seat, opening the upper desk drawer to rummage through its interior.

His eyes followed where the two brothers had gone. “So Erin Jones had a spontaneous mental breakdown in the middle of questioning?”

“Yep,” she found the bottle she was looking for. It contained some kind of organic ginger compound and came recommended for nausea. She wasn’t sure it actually helped much but swallowed two tablets down with her water anyways.

“And it’s just coincidental that Lucifer sat in on that interview.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she swallowed again.

He hovered another moment before he sat down on the desk. “Are you okay?”

“After everything that’s happened in the last 24hrs, that’s a really hard question to answer.”

He nodded, yielding to the point. “But you and Lucifer; are you guys okay?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“What do you know about Charlie’s kidnapping?”

The question surprised her. She looked up at him. “What do _you_ know?”

Dan leaned in, his voice low. “Maze may have mentioned some things.”

“Oh,” she blinked, then turned towards him carefully. “What... do you think about... things?”

“If it’s really people from their own family that took Charlie, then I’m not sure how I feel about you and Trixie being mixed up with that.”

“Dan,” she began to argue, but he cut her off.

“Our daughter could have been killed on that beach. Chloe, come on; is this really the kind of life you want for yourself?” His eyes appealed her, settling on the obvious. “I mean, you haven’t even _told_ him yet.”

“And how do you know that?”

He snorted. “Like he’d take something like that quietly.”

She closed her eyes as the nausea crested, willing it to abate.

Dan said nothing, but she could practically feel his fear, bristling like wildfire and eager to snap. She couldn’t even blame him. She took another breath to ground herself before she spoke. “Do you trust Lucifer?”

“What… kind of a question is that?”

“Do you?”

“I trust him to completely screw up the most basic principles of human–”

“With my life.”

He stayed silent, and she pressed forward. “With Trixie’s life. Keeping us safe.”

“But when he’s the reason you’re in danger in the first place?”

“Are you really going to blame him for what his family has done?”

He let out a breath, his argument dissolving. “No... But,” he gave her a pained look. “I still worry.”

“I know.”

The silence was thick and settled between them. “Alright, just, know I’m here if you need me,” he pulled himself upright, still regarding her with quiet concern. “You look awful. You’re not even supposed to be in today; maybe you should head home and get some rest?”

“That’s charming, Dan; exactly how many hours of sleep you get last night?”

“Who’s counting?” he shrugged gamely, tapping absently against the desktop a few times but couldn’t find anything else to say. In the end he retreated to his desk in silence.

She returned her attention to the screen in front of her, and eventually even turned it on. But her focus had strayed into the rough and wallowed there, refusing to be drawn out.

Of course Dan was worried. He had every right to be. But he had absolutely _no right_ to suggest what was best for her, or imply that those choices put her family in danger. Because she was already _just_ as worried, if not more so, and she’d run the scenarios in her head a dozen times and considered, more than once, to send Trixie away with him until this issue was resolved. But that was ridiculous. Life was risk, and theirs in particular was abundant with it; every criminal they crossed could snap and trace a path of vengeance back to the people she cared about. She knew that, and sometimes it kept her awake at night. At the same time, if she wasn’t here working to create the change she wanted for the world, what kind of truth was she living, what example was she setting for her daughter?

She rose to her feet, vaguely calculating the time it took to weave her way to the washrooms before the next wave of nausea hit. What she really needed to focus on was helping Amenadiel arrive at a indissoluble solution. Most days Heaven and Hell still seemed too large to grasp, but if she thought of this in terms of some crazy celestial custody battle, it brought it down to earth just enough to keep it tangible. She was willing to follow his lead that the answer could be found somewhere within the archaic library they’d gathered, and imagined, not without a small pang of grief, that Charlotte Richards would have been brilliant at this sort of thing; she still sorely missed her.

And now her carefully ordered thoughts began to unravel. For Charlotte had died because she’d become entwined in this celestial opera willingly and knowingly, yet that still hadn’t saved her. Amenadiel was the First Angel of God, and that hadn’t prevented his siblings from turning on him, his infant son caught somewhere between worlds by the circumstances of his birth alone. And Lucifer… he hadn’t fallen so much as was thrown from Heaven, condemned to Hell and held there by his own fallacies. How was any of this right? How could a God who proclaimed love – who loved His own children – allow any of this? It was not just, _it was not right._

How could she back down from any of this?

 _‘You’re awful determined for a squishy human,’_ Lucifer had remarked, and yeah, she was. And when she was around him, he also became a somewhat squishy immortal. And yet they’d aligned themselves together, as they always had, knowing fully what they were getting into; it was enough they had each other.

And then what happened when he returned to Hell?

It hit her then as it had before, that sensation of being uprooted by a momentary lapse in memory, left vulnerable and exposed to every sense of loss and futility as it came back in a crushing surge. In a roundabout way it worked to bring her back outside herself, bracing against the wave and turning her focus onto the controlled chaos of the busy bullpen, a welcomed distraction she’d often used to ground herself. But the rush and noise of people going on with their lives flickered like the frames of a grainy movie where the sound track was just slightly off-set and the images shuddered, even as she tuned it to her heed. On second thought, this really wasn’t any better. She pushed her focus forward but the motion of room followed, as if there were suddenly too many planes and no fixed points and she couldn’t make any of them hold still.

Oh wait, that’s because it was the whole room was spinning, and, shit––

“Hold on, I’ve got you,” a firm grip on her arm became an anchor, but it was another moment before she could place the voice. It held her in place until the floor fell back towards the ground and the ceiling settled to lofty heights. “Come, let’s get you sitting down.”

The lab was empty and the lights were ignored, sinking into the chair that was offered to her without grace. The table was also mercifully cool, though she tried not to think about all the things that had been placed there previously as she pressed her face against the even surface. Oscillating flurries buzzed like television static behind her eyes, but at least the ground wasn’t heaving any more; breath by breath, the room began to still. “Thank you, Lilith,” she managed at last.

“Should I get someone–” she began, but Chloe raised a hand.

“Nope, I’ll be fine; just give me another minute.”

“Steely _and_ stubborn,” Lilith gazed over her demeanour. “Both would serve you in Hell, where it can be hazardous to show any hint of underbelly. Not so effective, however, if you drop on your feet before an ally may offer an assist.” She sat in the silence until it became clear the other hadn’t the sufficiency to answer. “May I?” she asked at last, and the noise made in return was noncommittal, so she moved her hands until they rested just above the other’s head.

Chloe was vaguely aware of motion, the sensation becoming clearer as the nausea began to roll back, the way a fog lifts and disperses. Warmth spread down each dulled and clammy limb, easing her muscles, and mercifully, the fireworks that bombarded her vision faded and allowed the room to form again in expanding detail.

Lilith sat just across the corner from her, and in the dim –– _nope,_ her eyes were still wrestling for control of her nervous system, because that made a lot more sense than _the woman sitting across from her was glowing._

She shut her eyes, focused her energy on things she knew were real – lamp posts and taxes and the _Friends_ reruns that provided little doubt the 90’s weren’t nearly as accomplished as she remembered them to be. When she dared a second attempt she found the room was expectantly dim and Lilith was seated beside her in contemporary, earthly lighting. This, her brain told her, was good. The woman’s hand however roved a few inches above her head, a gesture that, while not immediately menacing, did leave an awful lot hanging. “What… are you doing?”

“Feeling better? Good,” Lilith straightened, and as she did so brought both hands to rest again on her lap. “I suppose you could say it behooves me to ensure that his lordship’s consort is not left unattended during–”

“No, with the hands– wait, what– lordship? _consort?”_ she returned her head to the shallow of her arms. Lilith sat quietly while she pulled herself back together. “You’re not glowing again, are you?” she muffled out loud.

“That wasn’t me.”

“Oh.”

There was a shuffling noise and she sensed the illumination bloom beyond her peripherals. When she lifted her head, she found Lilith with her hands cupped around two small, oblong discs, each about the size of a large coin but neither as uniformly round nor flat. They were innately foreign-looking, out-of-place and aberrant in the way pristine eggs look as they lie in their nest, wrapped in trampled goose-down and woven twigs, something precious strewn so causally amidst the mundane. They were beauty and wonder both, and they shimmered on her palm like mother-of-pearl, warming the room with a light that grew in expanding lumens.

“Right. Those aren’t from around here, are they?”

“No,” Lilith smiled, and the discs twirled between her fingers, tumbling over themselves as they danced through the spaces between them. “They’re blessings; or seeds; pieces from a Tree that grew in the Garden where I was young.”

 _“That_ Garden?” Because _of course_ it was That Garden; this is what her life had become, where she did laundry on Tuesdays, took her daughter to karate on Wednesdays, and sat around on Thursday with the first human woman and talked about Gardening with a capital G. She wasn’t even surprised any more. “So Eve really did make off with some exalted fruit.”

She chuckled. “She did; though not in the way you might think.” Her gaze returned to the the seeds, a reverent expression not unlike motherly pride, a keeper’s trust; when she looked up at last, her face was thoughtful, regarding the other woman with consideration. “Did you want to hold them?”

“Can I?” It was more a question of capability than propriety, and for an answer the other slid them across the table with a decisive gesture.

Alone on the sheer surface the light dimmed, strumming now in feeble whispers like a dying firefly. Tentatively she flexed her fingers, brushing feather-light over the smooth, tepid surface. They were warm to the touch, inarguably a thing of wood for all they looked like stone, and light trailed as the ghost of her caress swirled over the luminescent veneer, like precious opal glinting with chased and scattered light. Emboldened, she lifted them into her fingers, feeling warmth radiating through her hands as they came to life again and shone. “Okay then. Glowing plant seeds. My day is not getting weirder at all.”

Lilith said nothing, watching the seeds illuminate between fingers. “Would you like to hear a story?” she said at last, and when Chloe nodded reclined into the seat, her hands drifting to the pouch that had held the seeds, now empty on her lap.

“In the beginning, there were three; but one I used on selfish things, trying break what could not be broken, indulgences wasted for the want of foolish things. I know now that blessings are meant to be given, and that within every act, a sacrifice. Nothing is given freely.”

“That’s… not true,” Chloe frowned, peeling her gaze from the pearlescent discs.

“It’s easy to qualify, but think on this: for every action taken, another is lost, a choice made that can’t be undone or exploited again. Most of the time you make these choices without consideration, because the benefits clearly outweigh the doubts, or neither consequences is significant enough to be recalled thereafter. But that doesn’t mean it went without regard, or was formed without a loss of something else; we are given an infinite amount of choices, but in the end, we can make only one.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

She shrugged. “You seem to be struggling with a choice.”

“No,” she straightened, pushing the seeds away. Their light dimmed, and she felt bad about that. _She felt bad that the magic beans stopped glowing;_ this couldn’t possibly be what she was stressing about right now. “No, it’s not about choice, it’s… approach. Procedure. Finesse.”

“Finesse,” Lilith scooped the discs back into the pouch, and they were left under the borrowed lighting of the precinct’s fluorescent tubes, “so that’s what they’re calling it this century.” She grinned wryly at the other woman’s growing look dismay but her next words were more gentle, “I won’t tell, if that’s what you’re concerned about. Remember? Not a demon, I’ve pledged no loyalties and remain my own person. So your secret is safe, if that's what you choose to call it.”

She blanched in spite of herself. “Is it… that obvious?”

Now Lilith did laugh. “I’ve had children, you know.”

“Yeah, guess that’s true. Your reputation kinda proceeds you.”

The smile left her eyes. “I had Mazikeen when I quite young. There was a time when I was known by other names, you know. In other places, and the women there looked up to me, to divulge the mysteries of our sex, a symbol of fertility and an unbroken line descending from the bed of Heaven. They were half right, but who am I to discourage such harmless things?” She smoothed the pleats of her long skirt, disrupting the thick ply of crushed velvet and igniting the moiré effect across the surface. Her hair today was loose, cascading down her shoulder in thick, dark waves that framed the heavy necklet at her throat with its stones of hunter’s green. They matched her eyes, set against the deep colour of her skin to gleam like emeralds. “Some even called me _goddess,_ then. A kindly mistake, but it was done. And they worshipped me. They called on me and bared their secrets, confessed their hopes, their darkest dreams. I always saw them as they were, in their light; they were so beautiful.”

Her face had transfixed, drawn into the haunt of old memories. “I didn’t… always hurt them,” the smile was jagged, showing teeth. “Sometimes it was enough to be near, just for a little while. In the beginning, anyways. But that’s not what people remember. They don’t remember your triumphs, only all the times you failed. That’s what motherhood did. And Eve wasn’t the one who was cursed in the Garden, you know. It was me.”

The part of her brain that flinched when hellfire caught her unaware was flexing now, prickling her spine and prompting her with a myriad of suggestion, most of which were to leave the room as quickly as possible. But the cop part of her brain flexed too, netting the balance of her words and weighing them carefully, forearms crossing on the table and she straightened in her chair. “That sounds… like it was difficult for you.”

“Difficulty is relative. It suggests I had the luxury of knowing better.”

“Well, I’m still pretty new to understanding how this whole concept of ‘divine might’ plays into things, but I believe we develop within ourselves a sense to know right and wrong, and recognize when we have been wronged…”

Lilith quirked a brow. “Wait, is this that detective thing you do? It’s rather ballsy; I am beginning to see why he likes you. That, and you’re quite shiny.”

It was 110% misdirection, but– _“Shiny?”_

“Everyone holds light,” she gestured candidly, “well, everyone with a soul; each is different and unique to the individual, not unlike a fingerprint, you might say. Yours is… lovely. And very bright. The both of you.”

She didn’t know what to do with that. So she rubbed the bridge of her nose and tried not think of her partner in terms of a very large, gregarious sort of magpie, but now she couldn’t unsee it.

The door opened as Ella blustered into the lab, headphones in place and forensic kit under her arm with a giant slushie balanced in the other. She set the drink down to reach for the lights. “Oh!” she startled when she saw them, yanking out an earbud. “Hey Decker, and person I don’t yet know! What kind of weird-vibe in-the-dark secret meeting we having up here in my lab? Which I’m totally cool with, by the way – do you need me to come back?”

“No, sorry Ella – we just ended up here. This is Lilith,” she extended as the lab tech shuffled the bags onto the counter. “Ella Lopaz is our lab tech, and Lilith is a friend of Lucifer and Amenadiel. Also Maze’s mother,” she added carefully.

“Whoa,” she turned. “That, I was not expecting. I mean, Maze has mentioned you like, _exactly never_ in all this time, and you’re not even what I pictured, not that I knew what I was picturing, like, at all? But I can see it now… and _damn,_ you look waaay too young to have a kid Maze’s age… those be some killer genes, sister!”

Lilith grinned. “Clearly.”

“She was young when she had Maze,” Chloe supplied hopefully, to end the conversation.

“I was,” she assented easily. “I had a slew of children before I really knew what to do with them. I wasn’t the best mother, as I’m sure Maze will fill you in, even though it came easily to me. But, I am older than you think; old enough to never have to worry about _that_ aspect of womanhood again, and I for one am glad for it.”

“Damn,” Ella whistled again in appreciation. “Whatever your secret is, I want in on that.”

Chloe reached over and clamped her hand on the other’s sleeve when she made to reach for that small pouch again. “Ella, did you find anything further on our last victim?”

“Oh, well tox results will be back first thing in the morning, and Raj at the morgue will have that paper to me as soon as he gets his deft little hands on it; the way that man can finagle his way around a corpse…”

The Detective made a brief face before pushing past it. “Alright. Let’s converge on this as soon we have the tox report in hand. I want to review all three cases, and see what connections we can make. Hopefully Dan will have had chance to speak with Ashley’s roommate by then, and has better luck then we had. Maybe we can find something we missed.”

Like, a direct connection, motivation, or a lead. _Any_ of those would be useful now.

Ella nodded, scooping the camera from her bag. “I’ll begin processing the pictures as soon as I sit, but something did jump out at me. Take a look,” she pulled the image up on the view screen.

She frowned at the small display, the crucifixion centred on the dais, the garden of overgrown weeds sprawling around. Ella advanced the picture to another clump of weeds, then again to a detail of the victim’s crown. “What am I looking at?”

“Thistles,” Ella supplied. “Her crown was made of mostly thistles. Just like the willow tree from the last site, I don’t think they were picked at random, because there were a lot of other flowers in the garden that would have been waaay easier to work with than thistles.”

“Huh,” she peered at image critically. “So what are they trying to say here?”

“If we’re going biblical – which is pretty obvious that we are – then the thistle is most often used to represent the Fall. You know, expulsion from the Garden, toil and hardship forever because of a little civil disobedience on the part of mankind. All around pretty harsh if you ask me.”

“You have no idea,” Lilith murmured, but before the Detective attempted to divert the subject yet again, the door swung open.

“Ah-ha!” crowed Lucifer, his finger singling out the first lady incriminatingly. “There you are, surreptitious miscreant, trying to shimmy your way out of your bonds already–”

She turned, excruciatingly unhurried. “For the record, I invited Amenadeil into the washroom with me; he refused. It’s not my fault your brother’s a prude.”

“Where _is_ Amenadiel?” Chloe tried to anchor the conversation before it ran completely away.

“Oh, he’s gone to talk things over with Linda; probably not worst idea, as the good doctor is bound to have some fresh insights.” His gaze was trained on Lilith, but when she didn’t immediately make to shimmy off anywhere, his vexation eased ever so slightly.

“Yes,” she nodded purposefully, “and also, as it’s her kid, she may want to be included in the decision making process.”

“Well if she insists,” he brushed it aside, “pardon the intrusion, Miss Lopez.”

“‘S’fine,” Ella shrugged. “Kids, I tell ya…”

“Lucifer, Amenadiel can’t expect to approach the - _kidnappers_ \- without Linda weighing in on how it’s handled, you know that.”

“Well I suppose; but no matter, at this rate Charlie will be fully fledged before my brother comes to any sort of decision. Not that this is the sort of matter to rattle off, but surely he doesn't need to make such a meal of it; you’d think with the negligible amount of planning that went into achieving the child he could at least apply some of that same gung-ho here.”

Sometimes, there really were no words to sum up the audacity of the of the man in front her. None, between Heaven and Hell and everywhere in between. If she said anything it was unintelligible and the eye roll was visible from space. She rose to her feet and strode out of the room.

“Detective?” his puzzlement trailed behind.

Something small thumped against his arm and he turned to find Ella with a snack pastry proffered towards him. “Take this,” she prompted, and under his scrutiny withered slightly, “because it’s dangerous to go alone?” before finally, in exasperation exclaimed, “you know, for an international spy, you are _really oblivious_ sometimes!”

Now his confusion was fourfold and his own expression nonplussed. “What’s happened here since I’ve been gone,” he frowned, but took the offering. “Don’t take your eyes off that one,” he said of Lilith, before ducking out the door.

The Detective was at her desk, hovering above the papers she’d sorted back into their folders and leaned over to switch her screen to black. She didn’t look up immediately when he landed beside her, and fussed with her call log until the Passion Flakie hesitantly wobbled into view. _“Really…?_ did Ella say need to chill? Because I totally _do not_ need to chill right now. I am chill, if I were any chillier, I’d be _frozen!”_ But she did take the pastry, just in case.

He watched her tug at the wrapper. “Detective, even _I’ve_ seen that movie and can attest you’re far more a _Tangled_ type.”

“Oh? Because I’m a chronic loner who barely gets out and is prone to existential crises? Wait, don’t answer that–”

“No!” he back-paddled. “Because of the frying pan! And general badassery…” he watched her continue to struggle with the wrapper and wondered if he should offer to help, but she was a little bit scary when she made that face, and this was coming from the King of Hell.

Her fingers slowed, as if working over something else. “You know Trixie hasn’t watched either of those movies in like, a year,” she muttered quietly.

“I guess I’ve missed a few movie nights.”

“Yeah. Yeah, and that was on me.” The package finally came apart in her fingers and broke. She stared blankly at the mess in her hands and when she finally bit down, it tasted like gravel in her mouth. She put every effort into chewing, but at least that way she didn’t have to look up.

“As I recall, we were both feeling rather aggrieved and neither dealt with things as gracefully as we might have.”

She swallowed, hard. “No, we certainly did not.”

He shifted his weight, sliding his foot against the desk so that it brought him alongside. Her face was still bent and he didn’t press. They had both been cruel to each other. Her betrayal had hurt, more than he cared to admit, and he knew he’d fallen into old, familiar patterns of indulgence and excess, extracting punishment, and in the process had brought his vices down on her, too. It had not been his proudest moment. Yet none amounted to the punishment she imposed upon herself, and of all things to be wasted on him, guilt should not have been one of them, and not from her. If she would let him have his way, he would spend every day until the last absolving her of every trace.

He allowed himself to brush against her, shoulder to shoulder. “Well, perhaps we can make up for lost time. What is the little aficionado into to now?”

She took another bite, chewing more thoughtfully. “Mmm, for a while it was all eight of the _Harry Potter_ movies, in order, on repeat; then we got into a _Studio Ghibli_ kick, although _Stardust_ has been featuring lately into the rotation. And we won’t talk about what she’s watched with Maze, because I think I have a better conscience going into Parent-Teacher interviews if I just don’t know?” her expression lingered, and she finally looked up. Her eyes were bright. “But yeah, we could do that. Trixie would like that. I would, too.”

The warmth spread through his chest, and he suspected his smile betrayed exactly how much the sentiment pleased him. “Then it’s settled – as soon as Amenadiel returns to collect his baggage, movie night it is!”

“So what’s the deal with Lilith?” she glanced back towards the lab. “I get that she’s helping, but you don’t seem exactly keen on her and Maze is clearly still dealing with some issues. And she can’t be left alone or…?”

“I’m not sure if I trust her,” he admitted. “Lilith’s history is complicated. She… well, she’s probably the only person who hates my Father more than I do. So I think it’s best she’s kept an eye on.”

“Is she…?”

“Dangerous? Oh, absolutely; but, she’s merely human, and sworn to best behaviour.”

“Think Ella’s okay with her?”

“Probably?” he shrugged.

They both turned towards the lab, the two within conversing in a silent pantomime.

“Decker, there’s someone to see you,” prompted the officer behind them. “A Mrs. Donna Reiner, you’re working her granddaughter’s homicide. I’ve put her in interview room 3.”

She turned, passing the half-eaten flakie to her partner and brushed away the crumbs. “Thanks Palmer, I’ll be right with her.” She’d already grabbed the file, reaching to unplug the tablet from its charger and heading towards the door.

Lucifer gave the pastry an exploratory sniff then finished it in a bite, pleasantly surprised. “They’re not terrible! I wonder where Ms. Lopez gets them–” then hushed from a look.

“Grieving grandmother,” she reminded. “She was too distraught to talk this morning, but she’s here now, and we still haven’t any solid leads. So, discretion, and sensitivity.”

He started to say something but she held the look, and they entered the room silently.

Mrs. Reiner was a small-framed woman in her early sixties, her purse clutched on her lap where she was able to reach for the tissues she kept dabbing at the corners of her reddened eyes.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Reiner,” the Detective sank into the seat across from her. Lucifer followed, folding his hands neatly as she did. “I’m Detective Decker, and this Lucifer Morningstar, our civilian consultant. We’re doing everything we can to find out who did this to your granddaughter. I know this has been really hard for you, but if there’s anything you can tell us about Ashley that might help with that, we’re here to listen.”

She nodded, softly. “When the officers came to the house this morning, I’m afraid I couldn’t hold it together. It was just too much. But I want to help… find the people who did this. For Ashley.”

“Take your time,” she smiled encouragingly. “We’ll stop if the question become to much. Okay? So to begin, do you know if there was anyone who would want to hurt Ashley?”

“No, nobody! I mean, I didn’t know all of her friends, but everyone liked her. I raised her, you know, after her mom left; Jen was my oldest, and she was always a challenge, but not Ashley. She was cheerful, always the light in the room. Bit of a party girl, but that’s youth. Everyone loved her.”

“We have here that she worked at a call centre; were there any conflicts there?”

She shrugged. “Not that I know of. She worked there with her roommate. She didn’t love the job, but it was only temporary.”

“We spoke to Erin today as well.”

“Erin’s a sweet girl,” Mrs. Reiner acknowledged. “A little pushy, but means well.”

“Pushy? How so?”

“She belonged to some church; was always asking people to go. I guess they had recruitment numbers to fill. She even tried to convince me,” her head moved from side to side. “I haven’t been ‘in’ with God in a very long time.”

“Me neither, and certainly the better for it,” Lucifer assured her most sensitively.

“Do you know the name of the church Erin attended?” the Detective pressed, but the woman shook her head. Tears had begun to well in her eyes again.

“Why would any kind of God let this happen?” she sniffed.

Lucifer was about to speak again but the Detective squeezed his leg under the table, effectively silencing him. “Do you need to take a break?” she condoled, and the woman nodded, her hands falling to her lap.

“I was going to be a grandma again,” she whispered softly. “Well, great-grandma, but that just makes me sound really old, but what does that matter now? The last time we talked, she told me. But I didn’t know it was going to be the last time. Now, she’s gone. They’re both gone.”

“Ashley was pregnant?” an unbidden emotion swelled, even as she maintained the professional decorum. Mrs. Reiner nodded through the tears, and she tacked onto her notes. “Was there a boyfriend…?”

“She said she met him at a club, but it wasn’t serious and she didn't tell me his name. It didn’t matter; her mom did it alone, and Ashley’s older than Jen was when she had her. We’d make it work.”

“Lovely; so you could become encumbered by three generations in row; rather sounds like a bullet dodged, don’t you think?”

She’d released her handle on the Devil to add to the case file, and only now realized the grievous miscalculation for what it was. Her head swung up, capturing her partner’s attention, although the look on his face suggested this was not the reaction from her he’d anticipated. Oh, if looks could kill…or, she could always just shoot him again.

“Please excuse us, Mrs. Reiner; you’ve been a huge help here today, and I appreciate your talking to us. Another officer will be with you in a moment, if there’s anything else you need.” She had mostly ushered the both of them from the room by this point and the door closed with a merciful click, the station’s usual blur of noise masking their conversation. “What the hell was that?!” she hissed.

“I was only giving the poor woman something to be positive about,” he leveraged. “She’s certainly been through a lot today.”

The headache from earlier came rearing back with a vengeance, and she wondered in passing what an aneurysm felt like. It was taking every ounce of her resolve to stay planted and calm, the edges of the folder were crunching under it. “By reminding her of everything she’s just lost?”

“I merely turned it around, made a positive out of the negative,” he cajoled, glancing back at the lab again for good measure; Lilith and Ella were still there, still taking, and while it certainly _looked_ innocent enough, he remained suspect. When he turned back the Detective she was still bristling at him and this wasn’t helping the situation at all. “Too soon?”

“You think?!”

“Well at least _one_ of us is freed of that horribly taxing burden,” he scowled as laughter trickled from the lab, “whilst I’m stuck here devil-sitting because of my brother’s piss poor planning; trust me, there are numerous other things I’d much rather be doing with my time,” he forced the grin in place, returning his gaze to her.

She’d stilled, the files braced in front of her like a shield.

The next minute they were being lobbed at him, and though his devilish reflexes kept them mostly contained, a few loose papers fluttering to the ground as he twirled. “Detective! Where are you going?” he dismayed at her rapidly receding form.

“I have to go pick up my _horribly taxing burden,”_ she snapped, not slowing.

“That’s not what I– I’ve already said, yours is fine!” he called after. “And what am I supposed to do with these? Besides of which you’re also my ride! _Detective!”_

But the Detective did not return, and more papers began to spill through his arms, and when he turned back Dan was staring and looking very much like the douche he was. Worse, his own arms crossed while slowly shaking his head as if he were judging him. _Judging HIM._ The concept was preposterous, but before he could act Ella nearly collided with him from the other side.

“Lucifer! Hey, you know _I just love_ hanging out with your peeps, and any family of Maze is like my family, but,” she glanced behind her, where Lilith remained in the lab, casually keeping an eye on them through the window. “She’s a bit intense; _scary intense,”_ she finished, her look short and desperate.

Exasperation pursed between his lips. “Trade,” he hefted the files at her and stalked towards the lab.

Lilith looked up as he approached, and he didn’t hide his disesteem. “It seems we have the pleasure of each other’s company tonight; I trust you to hold yourself to your bonds and not make me regret this more than I do already.”

Her smile was sweet and saccharine. “For the Devil, you’re having a lot of trouble with the ‘my word is my bond’ bit, you know.”

“You and I are nothing alike,” he minced.

The expression hardened. “I suppose not; one of us has never tried to hide who we were.” His eyes glinted, but she only smiled. “My very best behaviour, I’ve promised; scout’s honour,” she tossed a mocking salute.

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

“Mom, never let Dad pick my outfit _again.”_

Chloe adjusted the rear-view mirror to focus briefly on her daughter. “I don’t know; I think it’s kind of cute?”

“Maybe when I was nine,” Trixie scrunched her nose. Her arms were crossed over the pink shirt adorned with sparkly flip-sequins in the shape of a cupcake, the tulle skirt also pink, the socks completed with buttoned pink bows. “I’m almost eleven now, you know.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“It’s still okay to go to the movies with Ava & Maddie tomorrow, right? Ava’s sister Addison will be with us the whole time, and she completed her babysitter’s certificate last month so she’s official now and everything, and we agreed we’d all be waiting at the ice cream shop until Dad picks me up.”

“What did Dad say?” she frowned as she ran through the dates again in her head. She vaguely remembered making the arrangements earlier in the week, but that seemed like a lifetime ago.

“He said he’s fine as long as you are.”

She pulled into their parking spot, letting her thoughts settle as the engine stilled. Everything was a mess, she was exhausted, and she didn’t want to think about another thing right now. But that wasn’t her daughter’s problem, she needn’t be laden that burden too; after everything that happened it was important to keep things as normal as possible, no matter the cost to herself. Her daughter – her children – would always come first. “If your Dad’s cool with it…”

“I’ll text Ava and let her know!” she grinned, hopping out of the car.

Chloe had to smile at her enthusiasm, holding the look until her daughter was away and bounding towards the building. Then the expression dropped, removing her sunglasses and clicking them onto the overhead holder, settling on the reflection in the mirror unbidden. Red-rimmed eyes met and held her gaze.

How had she gotten so carried away with a dream that she forgot to check in with reality, swept up in some harlequin-tiered romance fantasy like some bored housewife where she _and the Devil_ settled down into some impossible semblance of domestic bliss? She’d laugh at herself if she trusted any emotion to remain contained, which she did not, and sometimes she just wanted to take these hormones and shove them, because this couldn’t possibly be her. This was some feeble, fallible version of her former self that went far beyond vulnerability, and being so damn _breakable_ was something she, Chloe Jane Decker, had never been. She couldn’t afford to start now.

She took a deep breath and grabbed her purse to follow. “No texting on the stairs!” she called out, and by the time she caught up Trixie was digging out her key to open the door. The air conditioning greeted them favourably, the apartment dim and quiet. And then–

“MAZE!” Trixie exclaimed with glee.

She flicked on the lights as the girl went hurdling towards the figure draped in the armchair and tackle-dove her into the hug. The Demon responded with open arms, not even wincing at what must have hurt, the child thumping against the bandages still peeking from chest. “Trixie, careful – Maze is–”

“Fine!” Maze rolled her eyes at her while trying not to look like she was enjoying the tangled embrace as much as she actually was. They sat there contented, the child and the demon snuggled into the chair, and nobody said anything.

As worn out as she was, the sight still made Chloe smile.

“Don’t get mushy, Decker,” she warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she deadpanned.

“We’re having pizza tonight,” Trixie informed her. “You’re staying for dinner, right?”

“Are there any vegetables on the pizza?”

Trixie looked at her mother imploringly.

Chloe sighed. “Fine. One can be a meat-lovers deluxe, with pineapple and extra hot peppers.” She considered, briefly, if the pepper could be considered a vegetable; it would make her feel better if she did, and at least pineapple was fruit? “But Trixie, you still need to put away your things from Grandma’s and make sure you have everything prepared for tomorrow; when that’s done you two can pick out a movie.”

“Awesome!” she gave Maze another squeeze before darting to gather her bags and head into her room.

She sunk then onto the couch, allowing herself to enjoy the deadening of her tired muscle into the thick cushion, in silence that was merciful and… well, kind of unnerving, actually. She turned, noting Maze still hadn’t moved. “Are you _sure_ you’re okay? Dan was concerned–”

“Dan’s a wussy,” she smirked. “It’ll take more than a couple angels to take me out.”

“Yeah,” she really hoped that was true, but quietly decided not call out the way Maze’s normal veracity was unusually subdued. “It’s great you’re staying for dinner,” she said instead.

“You always order from the good place,” she shrugged. There was another long breath of silence. “I was thinking,” she began. “I might stay a here a few. In my room. It’s… a little weird to be at Linda’s right now.”

“Of course! This is still your home, too.”

She relaxed a little more, settling deeper into the chair. “Damn straight.”

Chloe tried not to smile. She considered her roommate, who’d probably thwart any attempt at emotional sharing with knives, and at the same time they’d shared quite a bit these last few months. And now as they shared the comfortable silence, she was struck by how grateful she was for it, and closed her eyes so that the pressure that had begun to build behind her lashes wouldn’t fall. When she opened them again, Maze was staring at her, her look just ever-so-slightly unsure. “You're _really_ sure you’re alright?” she asked, more to distract herself.

“Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix,” Maze snorted. “Are _you_ okay?”

“You… want to know how I’m feeling?”

“No,” she shook her head easily enough. “But if it gets you to stop asking me that…”

Chloe smiled. “Glad you’re back, Maze.”

“Well, you don’t completely suck to live with, you know.”

She had to chuckle, and Maze was probably right too – a good night’s sleep was what she needed to put everything back into perspective. She heard Trixie returning from her room and wiped the tears away before either saw them, but this time they fell because she was happy.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

There was a creak as the door opened, but Maze was already awake. Even so, she let the figure creep all the way to the side of her bed before she stirred. “Two mistakes,” she ticked off, “what were they?”

The figure cocked its head to the side in marked concentration. “The door creaked, and… I kept below the windows, so there’s no way you saw my shadow under the door… what gave me away?”

“You smell like cookies.”

Trixie held up the bag.

“Atta girl,” the demon grinned, and girl climbed onto the bed beside her.

They munched, snuggled in the thick dark, ignoring the crumbs where the fell. “I had a bad a dream,” Trixie said at last.

“Oh? Tell me what it was, and I’ll tell you how to kill it.”

She bent her head, a small sound heaving from her chest. “It was the angels.”

Maze straightened, ignoring the knifing protest from her insides at the motion, staring at the child through the dim. She brought her closer. “Listen to me. They weren’t there for you.”

“But they hurt _you–”_

“Because I’m a demon,” the _‘duh’_ was implied. “Angels and demons don’t mix – we’re like cats and dogs, orcs and elves, Yankee fans and–”

“You and Lucifer are friends.”

“Yeah, well he’s Lucifer.”

She had to nod there. “So does that me you’re not going to teach me?”

An uncomfortable feeling settled somewhere alongside her mending rib that probably had little to do with the injury. “Look, if you die in battle before your 18th birthday, your mom’s going to kill me, and at that point, I’d rather just take my chances against Michael. But don’t tell her I said that. Besides, sometimes you gotta play to your strengths, and while you are one amazing little human, you’re still human. And little. Those have to become what you leverage, because knife work will only get you so far. We could still work on the knife work,” she added, as if it was also a given.

Trixie let out a long sigh of resolve. “How does being small and human help me with _any_ of that?”

“Nobody suspects you,” Maze grinned. “Gives you time to put a knife through their Achilles’ tendon, or a boot to their solar plexus.”

“The principal said I’m not allowed to hit anyone in the solar plexus, even if they really deserved it; but he still only gave me a detention and Lacie Grooms got three days for posting those bad things about Jalina, so it was worth it.”

“You need me to take care of this principal?” Maze rose on her elbows.

She easily shook her head. “I can handle him.”

“That’s my girl,” she sunk down again, scooping another handful of cookies.

They munched again in the silence, listening to cars rumble quietly through the subdivision and familiar sirens inundating the night with their slow, warbling song. When she was small, the sound of sirens made her feel safe, because they meant help was on the way, like her parents, rushing in to save the day. Now they brought butterflies to her stomach, understanding what it meant that they had been summoned at all. Hers was a city wreathed in uncertainties and prone to fits of violence, but even so, she found she didn’t hate these unseen forces of peril, or lost hope for the city she called her home. Her world view had grown to encompass things that were much more complex, and while there was awareness of the grimmest kinds of wrong, there also remained an unstoppable truth: the many chances each person had to accomplish much more good.

“Are you going after them?” she asked at last. The demon shifted, but she didn’t ask who ‘them’ was, and she didn’t answer either. “I don’t want you to get hurt again,” Trixie continued, “so I want you to promise me that you’re not going to do it alone. You don’t have to take _me,_ but you have to have someone else there to watch your back.”

Maze narrowed her eyes, feeling both out-manoeuvred and something that felt similar to the way cookies tasted. Even the dull ache of her injuries subsided as she mused. “I do this, you promise me you won’t go after any angels?”

She nodded, and spit into her hand. “Swear.”

Maze did the same, and they shook on it.

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

LUX opened its doors to the night, offering one thing: the opportunity to forget the world outside – at least, for the night’s duration – a chance to be drawn into the belly of the beast to join the rhythm of lights and beats and music and come alive. Here the city drowned beyond the walls; what happened in the world beyond was suddenly not important, and who you were there – a barista, an analyst, a production assistant who hadn’t slept more than six hours in the last three days – within these walls, none of that mattered. Within these walls, you were reborn.

Lilith gazed over the floor, ignited with vitality and youth, mesmerized now as she often had been in times before. Then, she had been a part of it, in her time, and grinned as she recalled the carefree giddiness that had emboldened the blood and lightened the heart, the press of flesh, the taste of salt and sweat, and the light – oh, the lights, brilliant and twinkling as they spun and danced around her.

Her vision drifted, and beneath the dim orbs fabricated with glass and electricity, she saw their lights, brilliantly, even now.

It had been her gift – or curse; she wasn’t sure which was which for all had been a part of her for millennia now. Below the lights bloomed, flaring around each person like an unfinished halo, that undeniable _spark_ of the divine which humanity had been endowed with in its creation. They were impossible to ignore, and she was drawn here, as she had always been.

 _A moth to flame,_ she thought ruefully. _We are all prisoners of our design._

Below, she saw the angel as he made his way through the crowd. Like all angels, his was a light that ignited the darkness, a supernova against the lush velvet of space. And even though humans could no more perceive of this light than their own, they gravitated to him, longing and lustful, as if the memory of once-and-eternal dark lingered, a trait retained since times primordial that haunted the consciousness unaware.

He looked up then and spotted her, and Lilith waggled her fingers at him in a cheeky salute. He was so predictably riled it was almost unsatisfying. Well, they had had millennia to learn how to press each other’s buttons just so; Hell was a place of uneasy truces and strange alliances, even here.

She turned, leaning back against the railing. Gone was the heavy robe she’d warn in Hell; in its place a sleek gown the colour of deep green undergrowth that hugged her frame and shifted black in the absence of light. Her hair was pulled from her face and held in a loose clasp, tumbling down her back. A new century, a new look; the fickle mind of fashion always fascinated her, a guilty indulgence she endured even in Hell. Ashmedai had learned this early on, and the lord of demons had always plied her with lavish gifts of fine clothes and exquisite fabrics, and she’d let him know it pleased her, and she’d pleased him in return, and so the centuries had passed between them. Not that they _liked_ each other, were kind to the other or even exclusive; he was a demon after all, and she, well, she never pretended to be less than she was.

And she was a thorn, a splinter broke, a wedge that cleaved humanity asunder.

If you believed _those_ tales.

She sensed the pair as they approached. A woman and a man, not as boldly attired as the typical patron, and they moved together but with a curious and conscious of a lack of touch. The woman spoke first, smiling in a way that creased her face but not her eyes. “Are you new here? I don’t believe I’ve noticed you before.”

Lilith watched the timbre of the light around them fluctuate. She smiled widely. “Yes.”

The woman took that as permission and drew along side of her. “Hey, I’m Emily; hope you don’t think it’s forward of me to ask this, but was that the club’s owner I saw with you earlier?” her eyes rimmed over the balcony to where Lucifer made his rounds below. Lilith nodded, and she frowned. “He’s real bad news, honey.”

“So he says,” she shrugged. “He _is_ the Devil, after all.”

The pair exchanged glances. The man pressed forward. “That should probably alarm you. I mean, ‘go girl power’ and all that, but when it comes down to it, we’re all powerless to the wiles of the Devil, and fraternizing in this bed of sin–”

She leaned into him, pausing a breath away from his face and taking pleasure in the way his skin flushed. “When’s the last time anyone’s had _you_ in a bed, sinfully or otherwise?”

“I beg your pardon!” the woman alarmed. “If you aren’t worried about either your reputation or your God-fearing soul–”

“Let me stop you there,” she drew back, so both were immersed in her gaze. “I have never feared God, for I’ve seen His worst and borne the brunt of His short fallings since the beginning of days. No, there is nothing left I fear. But you, I feel _your_ fear creeping up your spine and down your leg, curling its fingers around the inside of your skull. Do you feel it too? When it whispers to you in the dark, I know it. I hear it, for those words are on _my_ tongue, and your fear on _my_ lips, and you are helpless against it. How does _that_ feel?”

 _“Stop it!”_ the woman clasped her hands over her ears, “you _demon–”_

“Not a demon,” Lilith huffed.

“Have we a problem here?” Lucifer appeared by her side, taking her arm in a tight restraint. His gaze fixed on the couple in front of them, his eyes narrowing as he addressed them. “Perhaps we should all call it a night, hmm? Shall I have security see you out?”

The woman bobbed her head, a terse, rapid assent, turning and shoved the man into a stumbling motivation as they keyed a line towards the exit.

Lilith flexed tentatively, but he hadn’t loosened his grip, so instead she sighed, leaning into the restraint to hang languidly from his arm. “I appreciated the concern, but it wasn’t something I couldn’t handle.”

“What makes you think it was _you_ I was concerned about?” he loosened the hand to slip away from her, then changed his mind, making a decisive nod towards the elevator door. “I’ve quite enough for one night. Let’s take this upstairs.”

Once in the penthouse he provided her with the courtesy of a drink, then escaped to the balcony to drink alone. His fingers struck the lighter, igniting a small plume of flame, and the cigarette flared to life beneath his ministrations. The city glowed below him, a twinkling array of gauzy lights that stretched until distinguishable blackness of the sea. The skies were orange above him and devoid of stars. He took a drag, holding the smoke in his lungs, letting it curl wreaths around his head as he exhaled.

“Would you be offended if I said it looks a little bit like Heaven?” she slid the door open to the night.

“Yes,” Lucifer sniped.

He puffed another drag, hoping she’d take the hint and leave. Instead she wilfully ignored him and leaned against the glass railing, her eyes canvasing the city beyond.

“It suits you,” she finally said.

The sound he made was noncommittal, and she shrugged, bringing the glass to her nose and letting the whiskery burn before and after she sipped. “I’m not surprised that you like this place,” she began again, expecting no answer from him and was rewarded with silence. “They do hold you in high esteem.”

“Well of _course_ they do; you’d be surprised what a cogent sell alcohol makes, along with a good shag.”

“I meant your friends,” she scolded lightly. “The ones at the police station. It must be pleasant to have people who both acknowledge your wider skill set and forgive your faults, all the while unaware of the power you could wield over them. And then there’s the Detective.”

“Whatever game you’re playing, she is out-of-bounds,” his words flared dangerously.

“No games,” she said lightly. “Why is it so difficult for you to accept that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he turned on her, the drink sloshing recklessly as he gestured. “Perhaps it’s because of the havoc you wreck, the lives you’ve destroyed, both in Hell and here–”

“I only ever wanted back what was taken from me,” she ground the words between her teeth. “And I keep thinking, that you of all people would understand that, what with your constant defiance and the rebellion… but now I honestly wonder, is _anything_ you do for the betterment of yourself and _not_ just to spite your Father…?”

“We are _nothing_ alike,” he repeated, the words cutting a moat between them. “I have _never_ harmed an innocent, nor exacted punishment that was not deserved–”

“You really believe that, don’t you?” she sneered at him. “You are no less egocentric and self-infatuated than you’ve ever been. Even _I_ admit I’ve made mistakes–”

“You left devastation and despair wherever you went; that’s not a mistake, that’s terrorism.”

“-–because I _failed,_ more times than I can count. Before I realized what I sought could never be, because the game is rigged and unwinnable. And I suffered _every time._ Because all I wanted for was a connection, that human bond… which is still more than you can claim, for all your pacts and alliances you remain incapable of forming any meaningful bond with another being–-”

 _“Enough,”_ the word evoked silence, and even she would not disobey.

The night drifted between them, the ebb and flow of ages across the breeze.

When she did speak again, her voice was quiet. “There was a time when neither of us was quite so terrible.”

“That… was a long time ago.”

“It was,” she hummed. “For all the things that change…” but she didn’t finish the sentence.

Below them, the City of Angels spread like the ghost of memories, of other places, of other times, long, long ago….

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

The Angel was just where she’d seen him the last time, perched, as would some large bird, in amongst the upper branches that made up the thick canopy of the Tree. The Tree was so huge and its branches so thick that Lilith couldn’t link her arms around them, even here. Luckily she was an extraordinarily good climber, and the sport came naturally to her. She wound her way up the branches until she found a comfortable perch, and waited him out.

“You’re spying on us.” It wasn’t so much an accusation as triumph, her hands planting on her hips with satisfaction.

He was framed in green, his wings such brilliant white they seemed to illuminate the space around him, and he was dressed simply but elegantly in cream-coloured robes. Dark curls crowned his head, and his eyes were the sultry darkness of summer skies alight with stars.

“Spying would imply you shouldn’t know I’m here,” he replied. “Since that’s not case, one of us must be misinformed.”

“Ah,” she made her way further along the branch; it was a thick as a barrel and sturdy under her bare feet. She was, of course, completely naked; clothing hadn’t become a priority yet. “Then if you’re not spying, what are you doing here in this tree?”

“Observing you humans. From a distance,” he allowed. “Otherwise there’s the tendency for the lot of you to act like a bunch of flibbertigibbets whenever an angel shows up, which makes the experience moot.”

He had a book in his hand, and was making notations, beautiful scrawlings she couldn’t understand. She pressed closer still, feeling very brave and bold. “What are these for?” she asked of the book.

“It is writing; I am recording my thoughts as I go along; that way, I might return to them later when I have something to add or compare.”

“It’s beautiful,” she told him.

“You can’t read, can you?”

“No; is it quite difficult?”

Now the angel smiled. “No, not with practice. At least, not for _angels;_ I’m not sure how much your simple human brain can handle.”

“Teach me,” Lilith plied.

Now he considered her, his eyes swooping briefly along her frame as if evaluating the very meat of her; she suddenly felt exposed beneath his gaze, and that was confusing, because the sensation was entirely new. “Please,” she entreated. “Samael, I will learn; you will not make waste of your time, you will not be disappointed with me.”

“I’m not,” he quirked lightly, and shifted his satchel to the other side so that she might creep nearer, settling herself down on the branch beside him. He spread open the book, where she could see. “Let’s try this,” he began, and made a notation on the page, a small cluster of symbols that danced with beauty on the page. “Now you,” he handed her the stylus.

She took the instrument in hand, holding it awkwardly until he formed her fingers around the base. Even so her movements were harsh, her letters wobbling and malformed. But she pressed the pen against the paper until at last, the word was formed. It looked so crude under his, but she was proud of it nonetheless. “There!” she crowed. And then, “what have I written?”

Now his face contorted, unable to remain straight. “Well…”

Her face was question, but there was a edge to it. “Samael…”

“It is an anatomical connotation.”

She studied him seriously for another long minute until everything sunk into place. “You _dick…”_

His laughter burst bright and loud, and he may have been in danger of falling from the tree if he hadn’t been so endowed with those impressively luminous wings. Colour rose in her face and she turned to leave, but he roused himself enough to catch her by the arm. “Wait, wait now, I will teach you, whatever you would like to learn.”

“Really,” her eyes were fretful.

“My word is my bond,” he straightened properly, extending a hand.

She considered him, this divine creature, of which she had no doubt of his might, his ability to render her helpless and undone. But perhaps she was foolish, because she didn’t fear him, though she knew she should.

She took his hand, warm and firm, and shook on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Lilith...
> 
> [](https://photos.smugmug.com/photos/i-9DMQN6m/0/cda169a6/O/i-9DMQN6m.jpg)
> 
> How are we all doing? Currently Lucifer is confused, Chloe is over-thinking things, Maze is sore, and Dan went an entire ten chapters before acting like a douche... we're notably still short some crucial information, but the next chapter is called _"Revelations"_ , so that's gotta be promising, right? 
> 
> The next chapter is going to be a bit late. It's a monster. It's long, it's dense, and the one following it isn't exactly a breather either and I may need to shuffle some things before it's ready. But I hope it will be worth the wait XD 
> 
> ... and now I've just hyped it up and THAT doesn't add any pressure _at all..._


	11. By the Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arrgh. I had to split this chapter >.> because nobody wants a 25K+ chapter <.< Also the title is mostly a lie; very little goes by the book herein.

Morning arose bright and clear, cloudless, the sky wide and blue and endless.

Chloe pulled into the gravel parking lot behind the Revival Mission; Lucifer was already there, the corvette ticking as it cooled in the moderate heat of the morning while he stole a leisurely drag from his cigarette. She decided not to contemplate how fast he’d driven to beat her here. She almost hadn’t texted him this morning, still digesting the events of yesterday, but in the end knew that he _could_ be good at his job, and stopping a serial killer before they struck again was more important than however she felt about their situation right now.

And the truth was, she wasn’t even really mad. Not at him, anyway.

He blunted the butt by the time she was out of the car. “No Lilith?” she observed lightly. “Guess that means you found a sitter.”

He didn’t dignify that with an answer, instead extended the cup of coffee towards her. “Decaf,” he assured, and held it there until she reached for it. “Now will you tell me why we’ve gathered at this affront to everything I hold dear…”

“Dan called–”

“Well that explains it.”

“–he followed up with Erin Jones and confirmed she attend our favourite Church these past few months. However, because I may have had a run-in with the Reverend Sommers a few weeks back and have been effectively barred from speaking to him directly, Dan’s headed there now. Then I got thinking; Sommers is a whack-job, and he’s definitely responsible for instilling the kind of rhetoric and hate that led to these woman’s deaths, but he might not be the one pulling the strings; he’s not the most robust person, there’s no way he could have taken a physically active part in either killings or staging of the bodies. Someone, or several someones, are also involved. Which brings us here. Derry Mathieson oversees this mission where Miranda Cole resided until her murder.”

“You _do_ suspect an inside job,” he completed, the grin spreading eagerness across his face.

“Our speculations point to a pretty specific set of religious symbolism between the cases; who’s more likely to be familiar with those than someone already in the Church? But it’s still a working theory. And without proof, it’s just that.”

“Then it sounds like we should go and tell Derry-boy hello.”

She nodded, bringing the cup to her lips; he pretended not to track the motion, her mirrored sunglasses concealing the reaction. Nonetheless it only encouraged him, for deciphering the Detective easily ranked as one of his a favourite pastime. He was pretty sure yesterday had already been forgiven (she’d texted him this morning after all) and just in case it hadn’t, he’d planned for some distractions. Because at this point it wouldn’t surprise him to learn the Detective hadn’t taken a day off since he left for Hell; she’d never been good at taking time for self before, and without him to remind her, who knows what she’d even been up to on her days off; definitely boring things, probably boring things involving terrible wine and sitcom reruns, maybe a bubble bath as the height of self-indulgence. Although, the bath, once tempered with salts and a froth of aromatic bubbles to slick the curves of her–

“Lucifer?” she frowned, standing now by the entrance and clearly having waited for him there. “You know, if you’re not feeling it today–”

He fell quickly in step beside her. “I assure you I am feeling all _kinds_ of things, Detective.”

The sunglasses had been returned to their case and she side-eyed him as he opened the door. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Aren’t you always telling me we should share more about how we’re feeling?”

“I did, and I meant more the work-appropriate kind of feelings.”

“Well that would really depend on what line of work a person was in!”

“Yeah, and we’re in _police work,”_ she turned on her point.

He came up short, reaching out to steady them both. “Point conceded.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That seemed too easy.”

“Oh, so you _do_ prefer it hard; we can work on that.”

“Um, can I help you?” said a tight voice from somewhere down the corridor.

She whirled back around, both abashed and glad for the hand steady at her back as she appraised the elderly woman who stood staring dubiously at them from the doorway. She was certain she should know her name, that it was in her notes, but she was having trouble accessing that part of her brain right now. “We’re here to see the supervisor, Derry Matheson,” she said instead, because at least that was still lit at the forefront. “Is he in?”

“Are you here for the couples counselling? Because those sessions don’t start–”

“Nope,” she stepped forward before her partner could ad-lib, “we’re with the LAPD.”

The woman gave them another look of pure skepticism, but turned around. “This way.”

The administrative offices were at the top of the two-storey walk up and at the end of the hall. Derry looked the same as he had the day they’d last met, crisp buttoned shirt and slicked hair; he removed his reading glasses when he rose. “Officers,” he greeted.

“Detective,” she corrected.

“Devil,” Lucifer grinned.

He considered them both with polite irritation, indicating the chairs as he begrudgingly sat himself back down. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Without preamble she slid a photo of Ashley, shown alive and well, across the laminate. “Do you know this girl?”

He frowned. “Should I?”

“How about her?” Erin’s photo joined the pile.

Derry shook his head. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at here.”

She added another photo, of Miranda Cole clothed in her death shroud.

“That’s Miranda,” he sniffed.

Another photo landed. “How about this one?”

“Who is she?”

“Meila Donoghue; her family were parishioners here.” She slapped down the photo of Meila’s body, sheathed in white like Miranda’s. Then she added the third. “Her name’s Ashley Reiner; her roommate Erin Jones not only attended service at the church, but volunteered here on weekends.”

He considered the pictures, jaw working under the scrutiny. “This is abominable.”

“I would agree,” Lucifer leaned forward ever so slightly. “I thought the Church commended itself on providing a haven for the vulnerable and disadvantaged.”

“And we do,” he grated. “Which is why these… _situations_ … are so damaging.”

“They certainly were to the women,” the Detective levelled, “perhaps you can tell me how they were for you?”

“How do you think?” he stormed to his feet. “We’re here, day in day out, trying to do the Lord’s work, to save mortal souls from immortal damnation in these terribly troubling times, and what do we get? Heathens and heretics and those who would make a mockery of the work we do here; don’t think I don’t know all about you two,” he scowled.

“Oh, do enlighten us,” Lucifer steepled his hands.

“You,” he turned. “The self-proclaimed Devil of Los Angeles, hedonistic playboy and owner of that den of debauchery that is LUX –”

“Tease.”

“ –and you, married a dirty cop, engaged to another dirty cop, but that was all swept under the table so you could partner up with a man who refers to himself as the Devil – a sterling example of LA’s finest if there ever was an officer.”

“That’s _Detective,”_ Lucifer’s voice was cold. “And what’s this about _‘judge not lest ye to be judged’?_ You clergymen tend to be a rather hypocritical lot, don’t you? No, don’t bother answering that, I have a better question for you, Derry: what is it that you desire most?”

His gaze fixed, and even as his hands reached to brace against the arms of his chair he couldn’t look away, a gnat caught in a web and facing the spider. “I… I… _I want it to stop!”_

Her fingers brushed gently against his suit as she stepped forward. “Want _what_ to stop?” she pressed carefully.

 _“Judgment Day,”_ he hissed, sinking into his seat as Lucifer eased his hold.

“You do know that’s a story, right?” she glanced at her partner, just for confirmation.

“Eh,” Lucifer gestured without commitment.

She decided they’d talk about that later. Her focus returned to Derry, who sat with his hands clench, fingernails digging into his skin and leaving a track of crescent-moons down his arms. “There’s a lot happening in the world that makes us feel out of control,” she began more gently. “So I think we try to find ways to control the things we _can;_ sometimes, the people or events around us–”

“You have _no idea_ what you’re talking about,” he snapped.

“Then _tell_ me,” she urged him.

 _“Broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction,”_ he swivelled his chair to face her, glassy-eyed and hair ruffled where he’d run his fingers to distraction. “We are all doomed because _people like you_ have forsaken His good word, and languished in sin instead of following the path of the righteous! I renounce you, _Whore of Satan-–”_

The movement was so swift she barely registered the man as he was swept from his seat and braced with his back against the wall, feet dangling and hands pawing at his throat, a futile gesture against the steeled grip that held him there effortlessly.

“I would be very careful how I addressed the good Detective,” Lucifer seethed, every muscle bristling but the hellfire mercifully contained. “If the lady chooses, by her own assertion to refer to herself as such, I support her prerogative, but if _any else dares speak of her that way-–”_

“Lucifer, let him down,” she said quietly. “He’s not worth it.”

His teeth were bared, posture articulating predaceous and lethal grace, and it was only when her words reached him did the beast subdue with cool and measured deliberation, returning to himself the way leaves settle again in the branches after the tempest has past.

He released Derry to stumbled into his chair, where he sat, gasping, his eyes wild between them.

She drew his attention, waiting for his focus to settle before she spoke. “I wouldn’t make any plans to leave town just now; my colleagues will be in touch with you, and there _will_ be some follow-up questions.” She scooped the photos from his desk, not meeting the glossy eyes of the lost women who stared out at her from within. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

In the parking lot she took what felt like the first breath since leaving the building. She wanted to curse, but years of censoring and setting the better example curbed the words reflexively and they died unsaid, which was probably just as well. “You okay?” she turned instead to her partner, reaching out to prevent him from moving past her.

“All good, Detective. No Level 11 breach of the Interview Itinerary Checklist, although I very much would have enjoyed teaching Derry a thing or two about persuasive nature of respect. As it was, a solid 7.9 on the Devil scale; more importantly, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” she grimaced. “Totally fine. It’s not every day a suspect takes me down that shining road of past shortfalls.”

“None of what he said was true.”

“You were there... and yeah, my reputation isn’t exactly the shiny, newly-minted penny kind of example the LAPD–”

“Detective, the only thing for which you are culpable is seeing the very best in people, and by the extension of that virtue have them strive to be worthy of your grace. You define the people around you; their acts, past or present, have never defined you.”

She felt the pinch across her cheeks, but wasn’t going to cry again, not today; 24hrs without an emotional outburst, that was the day’s goal, no matter how poignantly sweet he was being with his unintentional modern Shakespeare, and those enveloping dark, puppy dog eyes... Instead she sunk against the side of her car, not quite meeting his gaze, and though she’d released his arm was glad that he hadn’t moved away. “I have to admit, of all the names I’ve had hurled at me over the years, ‘Satan’s Whore’ is definitely a new one for the books.”

He was studying her face intently, and she gave him the benefit by smiling. “Well, as I told Derry-boy back there, if it were a name you choose yourself, I’m not one to object to anyone’s preference or title. Considering I’ve known me some delightful demimondaine over the years–”

“And stop, right there, or about a full sentence ago,” she sighed, punctuating her point on his chest with her finger.

Now he did frowned. “Do you mean... that you would prefer if I were not to mention… _past endeavours_ with other people? That will be... an adjustment, and might cut some key content, actually, a lot of content, I mean, what is left to say about the Roman Empire when expunged from the… well, I guess I don’t need to mention that-–”

“No, Lucifer...” she shook her head quickly, “not like that. I _like_ your stories; I do... at least the mostly legal ones… and when I’m not being intimidated by them, but that’s really more about me than you… and perhaps not so much in the middle of a staff meeting at the precinct, and they’re definitely still out-of-bounds around Trixie. Just maybe, not when we’re about to–-” she cut herself off, because at the very least she was rambling.

“About to what?” his brows shot up.

Now her face was in her hands and she was sure the burning was visible on her ears. _“I don’t know,_ have a moment or something?”

The silence that followed was deafening. No, this wasn’t awkward at all. This went far beyond, thick into the realm of mortification, an abyss so wide and deep she would be cringing about it for months. And so much for those goals for the day, although could she really be held responsible when every hormone in her body was amplifying every tactile response and fluster, along with the adrenaline from the moment before and oh, his proximity, which had suddenly gotten that much closer.

 _“Oh,”_ he drew out the word, as if to make it bridge that chasm of space; then he stopped himself and began to speak again, and when he did his voice was soft and halting. “It seems I may be in arrears; it is just… that I had remembered our moments… more like this.”

His hands grazed over her fingers until they opened to him, exposing her face to pads of his thumb as he traced the familiar contours. He wanted to smooth away the tension from between her brows, and banish whatever ghosts haunted her eyes, but that she would let him beneath her barriers at all, exposing her softness and vulnerability was a gift he revered, especially as it was one he likely did not deserve.

If her lips opened when his fingers brushed against them she would claim reflexes; and when he kissed her, that her hands moved up to grasp him by the lapels, that was clearly an act of balance, not leverage. In response she had him was rocking forward, one hand sliding down to secure her back, the other bracing the car to prevent them from slipping further. He almost broke their contact speak, because being pressed up against the side of her car in the mission’s parking lot was probably slaying several lines of professionalism that she’d been prattling on about early; but that she did anticipate, tugging just enough to keep his attention where it was.

Because in that nanosecond she found she was less concerned that they were some 30 feet from where two bodies had dropped the last time she was here, or sensed the disapprovingly stares from the mission’s windows, no, her focus was on where his hands were now, other places they could be, and the question of just _how strong_ he was hobbled through her brain as an afterthought. That intrigue warmed her, smouldering down deep inside the way hellfire had burned behind his eyes… a sound escaped her, one that was very decidedly not work-appropriate, and she froze, feeling him stiffen in response.

She broke contact, retreating no further then the allowance needed to catch her breath. Her hands stayed where they were as well, because she definitely need the balance. “We have a case meeting with Ella and Dan back at the station,” she murmured.

“You are completely terrible at dirty talk,” he rasped, his voice breaking against her ear. “Just give a Devil a minute, switching horses midstream like that...” But he inclined his head against hers, his hands falling to the small of her back as he helped her away from the vehicle.

“Trixie is with Dan tonight,” she heard herself saying. “Did you want to… grab dinner later?”

“I would… like that very much.”

“Okay,” she was nodding. “So would I. And there are some things we need to talk about, too.”

“Of course,” he acceded easily. “I would expect as much.”

 _I guarantee you are not expecting this,_ she kept her eyes pressed shut, trying to stay in the moment just a little longer without the onslaught of reality tugging from all sides. But now that ink had been drawn, so to speak, she had little choice but to resolve herself to her fate; all that was left now was to decide if she wanted to shatter his world before or after dessert. Outwardly she collected herself, and redirected them back to work. “That case meeting…”

He sighed, but stepped back to give her space as she dug for the keys. “Any way I can convince you instead to take a lunch instead?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“You’re with me, darling, _everything_ is on the menu.”

She shook her head, pausing on the open door. “Did that line _ever_ work?”

“On literally everyone who isn’t you, you freak.”

“You really are a glutton for punishment.”

“And finally she gets it!” he gleamed as she started the vehicle. “How long did that take, now?”

“I’ll meet you back at the station. No speeding,” was the addendum, because she had to.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

The whiteboard was spread with pictures of the victims, faces smiling from a time before, when they were alive and unaware of the atrocities that would one day bind them. The circumstances of their deaths lay exposed with clinical thoroughness, their last moments traced in meticulous detail across the glossy surface of the board where notes were plastered, parallels drawn, and anything else of interest, however vague, had been arranged herein. She gazed at them in silent ruminations, working over each piece again in turn.

She didn’t know them in life, but they easily could have been people she might know, ordinary people who had in the days before the crime photos were snapped been going about their lives; so randomly they’d been singled and the overwhelming senselessness of the crime made it all the more acute.

Sometimes the world seemed indifferent, but now their deaths were in her hands, to make sense of what she could and find order in that chaos, to bring to them in death what they had not been afforded in life – a chance at justice.

It was still _so_ exhausting sometimes. For now, she surrendered into the chair with a sigh.

“Where did Lucifer get off to?” Dan studied her irritation. “I thought you went to mission house together?”

She coughed, straightening abruptly. “Said he had to make a pit stop,” she glanced at her phone. “That was 40 minutes ago. If he’s not here when Ella arrives, we’ll start.”

“Have you had him reinstated with the Lieutenant yet?”

“Probably one of those things he should actually be here for?”

“Uh, yeah,” he frowned, giving up on his attempt at small talk. “He’s probably just stuck in traffic, you know.”

She looked up as the door opened, but it was Ella with a file full of papers and a look of grim satisfaction. “Results are in,” she brandished the reports. “Whatcha wanna see first? And wait, isn’t Lucifer supposed to be here?”

“Let’s talk less about Lucifer and more about the reports,” Chloe reached for the offerings, because after all, Dan was right; he probably was just caught up in traffic; no need to think he’d found yet another reason for a spontaneous Vegas trip or a leisurely pit-stop in Hell. Because that was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? She took her own advice. “What have you got?”

“To start with, the toxin wasn’t Succinylcholine this time around; looks like a concoction of things, sedatives mostly, so we’re still looking at medical grade, or maybe from a vet clinic?”

She let out a sigh. “Different drug, different methodology. Either the killer’s evolving, or maybe we’re looking at a copycat?”

“Yeah,” she tilted her head, turning towards the board. “Which gives me a bad feeling that this ain’t over yet.”

The door opened on her words and Lucifer finally made his appearance, a pair of bags under each arm. “Wonderful, if we’re all working through lunch, you’ll be delighted to know I took the liberty of bringing it all to you,” he passed two of the bags to Ella, who squeaked with delight when she glanced inside. “Plus some goodies for the Detective, but I suppose those can wait for later,” he plopped another onto the table.

“Do I even want to know what’s in that?” Dan had to peer around the bag because it had landed squarely in his field of view.

“I assure you they’re all work-appropriate. At least if you–”

“Okay, before this can get any more off topic–” she made a grab for the bag, but Lucifer whisked it out of reach in the same motion he used to plop himself into the chair beside her, gleaming smugly with a _wouldn’t-you-like-to-know_ grin plastered firmly on his face. It was really best to ignore him in moments like this. She turned, “Ella–”

“Food first!” she’d gathered a handful of chopsticks from inside the bag. “I _love_ dim sum!”

The food was set up in the centre of the conference table, take-out trays heaped with dumplings and har gow, pork buns and sticky rice, spring rolls, turnip cakes, shae mai, steamed rice rolls and scallion pancakes, with a delectable collection of small pastries for dessert; the case files had been relegated to the outside crescent, away from the soy sauce.

After she had polished off an impressive amount pork dumplings, Ella returned to her reports. “Oh! Got the paper free from our victim's mouth; not really surprisingly it turns out be a page out of the bible – the Book of Revelations to be exact,” she pulled out a printed copy of the crumpled, sodden sheet. “It’s the chapters about the Judgment of the Beasts and False Prophets, which I guess speaks for itself. And I’ll try to run a trace to the publisher, but there was some degradation to the edge so I gotta get it pieced back together some more, but I’d love to see if it’s the same version Church of the Last Judgment uses.”

“That does sound all very judgy,” Lucifer glanced at the paper as she passed it down. “I still envy John for whatever he was on when he wrote this.”

“Definitely some pretty trippy stuff,” Ella agreed.

“So you don’t think Revelations is necessarily accurate,” began Chloe haltingly, nibbling on the corner of a sticky bun. “It’s not _actually_ meant to be a prediction…right?”

On either end, Lucifer and Ella exchanged glances as if sharing some inside joke. “No way,” Ella shook her head. “It’s mostly symbolic, though I know a lot of people frame it as this horrible ‘we’re all gonna die’ apocalyptic scenario, and yeah, there’s some pretty gnarly stuff in there… but I don’t think it’s meant to be taken at face value so much as it’s exploring the obstacles and pitfalls of any relationship with faith.”

“Always the optimist, Miss Lopez,” he smiled fondly. “And for the most part, yes, John was big into his symbolism, thanks to a healthy supplemental regiment, but the most of this is just mumbo jumbo no sane person should put any stock in. I mean, look – he hasn’t even got the prophecies in the right order…”

Chloe turned to look at him, but now Dan was speaking. “Yeah, well we already know this person - or persons - are complete wackos. And after speaking to the Reverend again, who definitely falls into that category, I wouldn’t be surprised if that whole church was full of them. Erin Jones was very forthcoming this morning,” he gave Lucifer a brief look sideways. “She’d gotten Ashley involved with the Church; apparently, it was their _‘God-given duty to surrender sinners into their keeping’.”_

“What does that even mean?” Chloe frowned.

Dan shrugged. “From what I gathered, a lot of support groups, whether you actually needed them or not; same idea as those revulsive ‘pray the gay away’ programs. On the upside, the Reverend seemed a little more open to us referencing his staff and support workers across the organizations; mostly, I don’t think he wants more police attention than he already has, so we should be getting a full list later today. Were you able to get anywhere with the superintendent?”

“No,” she sighed. “Other than he has no love for the Devil, the LAPD, and me in particular; that aside, we know he was there during Miranda’s stay, and has a probable connection to Ashley, through Erin. And he just really rubs me the wrong way, but we questioned him, and... he didn’t give us anything that we could go on.”

“He’s a fanatic, Detective,” Lucifer paused between rice noodles. “Most people confess because they have a conscience telling them what they’re doing is wrong. A fanatic however truly believes he’s doing the right thing, regardless how twisted and deplorable the act.”

“Huh, yeah; I could see that,” she frowned again. “Could have been worth mentioning that to me when we were there.”

“I was… distracted.”

“Right,” she straightened. “Dan, what were we able to pull on him last time?”

He flipped through the file. “There honestly wasn’t much; he was one of the people who followed Reverend Sommers when the church split, so has been there since it’s foundation in his current position. He does do a lot work throughout the organization, according to their admin page. Before that, he worked as a general administrator with a small not-for-profit, his life prior seems pretty straight forward. Graduated from a christian college, has two siblings out on the east coast, both parents are deceased, his mom from a young age. Other than a few parking tickets, he’s never been in the system.”

“It’s always the perfectly boring administrative-types who turn out to be the sociopaths,” Lucifer stabbed a shrimp dumpling with his chopsticks.

“That may be, but until we can solidly place him with means and a motive, it’s nothing. Ella, were we able to get any vehicle makes/plates from the security footage?”

“No plates, but we do have a vehicle,” she pulled up another picture. “At 4:26 am, a dark mini pulls into the parking lot and parks off camera; it doesn’t leave until almost six. That’s over an hour, and coincides with our time death. Unfortunately, we can’t see a plate, and the footage is in black and white, and there’s probably like over 10,000 Chrysler Pacificas in the Bay area alone.”

Chloe sighed, and tried not to look as defeated as she felt. She eyed the last spring roll as consolation, but couldn’t bring herself to commit. Instead she drew their attention to the board again. “Well, let’s review what do we have…a confession to the first murder with the suspect behind bars; two more dead girls and a whole lot of coincidences. Meila’s body was left in an open field, where as Miranda and Ashley where both nailed up and crucified-–”

“Ashley while alive,” Ella added grimly.

“–and further subdued with different drugs in her system. Can we trace the drugs?”

“The problem with pharmaceuticals is that you can get just about anything off the internet these days with a bit of digging.”

“You can,” Lucifer concurred.

“So what does that leave us with besides the crazy religious symbolism?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard crazy until you start reading what this Last Judgment church is selling,” Ella pulled up her tablet. “I did sort of a deep-dive into their theology last night, and among other things, they really believe that the world is ending. Like, SOON, soon.”

Dan snorted. “Certainly wouldn’t be the first church to have a rolling end-of-days date they keep back-dating.”

“Right? That’s so crazy; and they choose to operate out of LA specifically because it is, and I quote, ‘a city of fallen angels and sinners’, so they can basically earn brownie points with God for ‘saving’ them. And they seek out ‘fervent dens of sin’ in which to do this – the usual places like coffee shops, bars and nightclubs.”

“Oh? Might explains the groupies who’ve been turning up at LUX…”

Chloe turned back, brow raised. “What do you mean, groupies?”

“One of the hazards of the position I’m afraid. Most of the time they’re just sorry folk who are a trying to find a way to feel important by latching on to something they perceive as bigger than themselves; not that I can fault them there, I mean, I’m _me,_ and who wouldn’t?” he caught her gaze and refocused. “The others are usually misguided, having fallen for that ‘Good Book’ and assume of me to be something I’m not, and never have been. Either way, I sent them packing.”

“When did this happen?”

“There was one rather unpleasant puritan the night before who had quite a lot to say on matters not unrelated to the ending of the world – yet another thing the Devil gets a bad rap for, I might add; and last night another two accosted Lilith.”

“And why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“It’s not entirely out of the ordinary,” he leaned forward and snatched the last spring roll between his sticks, “and both were handled easily, so no matter, no harm done.”

“Uh-uh,” she halted his movements. “Lucifer, you need to tell me when something happens to you! Especially if it relates to a case...”

“At the time I didn’t know they had any bearing on the case,” he tried his arm, but her grip was firm and liked to humour her. He also liked her touch, and willed she’d keep there. “And you should know that people have the tendency to flock to the Devil for all sorts of nefarious reasons, sadly, not all of them are the fun kinds.”

“They approached Lilith?” Dan was focused again on the board. “I mean, she’s older than the target demographic, but we don’t really know _why_ these women were singled out… besides being people they wanted to _‘save’,_ ” his mouth twisted on the word.

“This isn’t about saving anyone, it has every hallmark of one who means to punish, something I do know.”

“What if it started as ‘saving’ and turned into punishment?” Ella considered the evidence map.

“More likely, whatever they hoped to achieve with murder number one wasn’t sated, so each that followed escalated to try and chase whatever mercurial high attracted them in the first place,” he attempted to reach the springroll again as he said this, but the Detective remained unyielding.

“If they’ve approached Lilith once, wonder if they’d do it again?”

“Are you suggesting we used Maze’s mom as bait?” Ella turned a questionable look on Dan

“Maze won’t mind, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Lucifer supplied. “I don’t mind either.”

Chloe grimaced. “I don’t see how that’s even safe; our perp is escalating.”

“Lilith can absolutely take care of herself,” he spoke with assurance. “You might say her credentials are killer.”

“And it’s not like the victims were taken and harmed right away; they were brought in through these programs, and something went wrong inside – so having someone with an inside view of that process...”

The Detective’s brows furrowed as she considered this. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable sending in a civilian, particularly an untrained civilian, credentials or not.”

“Me neither,” Dan agreed. “But when it’s currently the only ‘in’ we’ve got, and they’ve shown up at LUX two nights in a row already…” he glanced at his watch. “We can get a small surveillance unit together before opening, even if we just want to watch and listen.”

“I guess it’s worth talking to her,” she sighed. “Alright. If we’re going to do this, then we start now. I’ll need to clear this with Ryce, and we can go from from there.”

Lucifer frowned at the crispy roll, still suspended in the air, to the Detective's drawn face, and arrived at a work-around solution. “Spring roll?” he offered. At least it captured her attention, turning to consider the offering, and possibly she would have even accept it had not the acclimation of _‘d’awww’_ broken out across the table.

“Sorry,” Ella didn’t look sorry at all, scrambling to her feet with a reckless grin slathered firmly on her face. “I was just leaving. You know, see if I can sleuth out any else out of these reports…” she bumped into Dan solidly as she passed.

“Yeah, and I’ll start getting that unit set up–” he followed after her, letting the door slam shut behind them..

“That was unsubtle,” Chloe fixed them with a look, but reached for the spring roll after all. His hand released, Lucifer returned his attention on the the last of the of the scallion cakes and stuffed har gow, both met with happy munching sounds.

“They don’t make dumplings in Hell you know,” he sighed with contentment. “At least, not ones stuffed with things you’d actually _enjoy_ eating…”

She observed him, her expression both soft and contemplative, her brows drawing in to leave that unsettled crease over her eyes. When she spoke however it was back to business, glancing towards the clock as she began to slot the rest of the day into place. “If Lilith agrees, we’ll have to move in pretty quickly so we’re in place and out-of-sight before LUX opens for the night. I’m sure Ryce will grant the allowance, but you should come,” she spoke at last.. “You need to meet the Lieutenant anyway so we can have you officially reinstated as consultant on this case. He’s strict but fair, and runs a tight a ship; you’ll probably hate him.”

“I’m sure he’ll adore me,” he grinned back.

“I’m sure he will; at least this will get him off my back for the time being,” she slouched forward to rest her elbows on the table, “although I realize _this_ isn't permanent either; this is just until you’re done here and have to leave again, and I’ll explain that to him. It’s just what it is, and that’s fine, we’ll … cross that bridge again when we come to it,” she concluded, nodding briskly.

His expression clouded, becoming at once something he hoped was unreadable. He set the sticks down, smoothing the napkin beneath them. “I suppose my being here now complicates as many things as my absence also did.”

She leaned onto her arm, chin causally resting against her knuckles as she faced him. “When have you _not_ complicated every aspect of my life?”

Her expression was light and found that helped to ease the squeezing he felt in his chest. He allowed a small smile. “Well, it was either that or completely boring, yes?”

“I think there’s the possibility of a mid-ground,” she shrugged.

“Ah, so you _would_ consider playing the bad cop, just once?”

“You _really_ want me to bring my handcuffs to dinner, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer, because his face had just drawn blank, the processes stuttering to stop somewhere between the possibilities of dinner and everything potentially after that. Because yes, that was on the table, wasn’t it? Well, not _on the table_ because he was a classy Devil who intended spoil her with the finest take-out burgers and fries from that place she liked, served with a red on the balcony; so that would come after. _Not_ that he would ever be so forward as to presume, and with him being unable to draw out her desires they way the spilled so easily for him with anyone else… _bloody hell,_ was _this_ how humans really did it? Did they really spend all this time guessing and second-guessing, whether _this_ was _the moment,_ and how did that possibly work? Because he was truly flying blind and this was not nearly as exciting as he imagined it to be, to be honest, it was abjectly terrifying. And now the Detective was looking at him with _that look_ in her eye, the one that meant she was on to something, circling her target with the easy grace of a primal hunter-goddess, gathering the intel she needed before going in and laying it bare. _And if she brought handcuffs–_

He abruptly shifted position and grabbed the remaining shopping bag by way of distraction, pushing it towards her. “For you… and the Spawn,” he prompted at her hesitancy. “As I assured Daniel, it’s fine. Open up.”

She took the bag from him, parting the twine handles to peer inside. “Oh,” her expression puzzled further, as she sifted through the contents. “These are….”

“For movie night,” he explained, impatiently tipping over the bag. “I figured your offspring’s a Ravenclaw, the scarf and wand is for her of course, the snacks are to share, oh – and I really don’t suggest you try the jelly beans.”

“They make Every Flavour Beans?” she held up the box in bemusement. “How can that be a good idea?”

“I’ve had worse,” he shrugged, and then clarified, “I may have eaten one of the boxes on the drive over. What, they’re still candy!”

She was trying not laugh at his earnest expression, dropping the questionable beans back into the bag with the others. His gaze remained fixed on her, as if searching for something he did not know how to ask, that squeezed her own heart, as much as she wanted to conceal just how deeply it did. “Thank you; Trixie is going to _love_ this; I can’t wait to show her.”

She reached across the table and placed her hand over his, to hold him there, and she continued. “And, you know... I _can_ handle complicated. That’s what I do. And I’m glad you’re back. Because... you’re _good_ at what you do here. You make a difference. You make _me_ better at what I do, too. Now,” she cleared her throat, turning to filter through case file with her fingers until she found what she needed. “Let’s go make this partnership official. Again.”

“Again,” was all he could parrot back to her as they rose, and if she glimpsed the sloppy grin that had affixed itself to his face before he followed, she didn’t mentioned it.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

Lucifer eyed the small Yoda. The small Yoda eyed him back.

Both viewed the other impassively until he turned aside to consider the assortment of objects the Detective had so neatly arranged across her desk. To the uninitiated, they were ordinary accessories, boring even, but now in the stifling tedium of the office they painted a vast and gloomy landscape of interstellar proportion for the one left here to weather her absence alone (albeit, while she dealt with the forces of her autocratic empire in the form of Lieutenant Ryce, and a Jedi knew when to pick his battles). Not that Lucifer considered Ryce a bad bloke; if anything he was absolutely boring and as far as lieutenants went, that wasn’t exactly a bad thing (Pierce was still worse). But he was greying and thick-jowled and mostly devoid of a sense of humour if the five minutes he’d spent with him were of any merit. Both seemed happy to let him excuse himself, so the Detective was laying out the foundation of their surveillance operation while he waited at her desk, almost patiently.

Luckily, there were always cunning adversaries afoot.

The small knitted Yoda advanced purposefully through the stacks of files, shelved high and ominously, not unlike the Columns of the Damn that loomed over Hell. He emerging on the far side to survey the lay of the land for any sign or threat of life, but he was alone on this desolate plain, so very alone. _Well,_ Lucifer thought fervently, _there are certainly worse things_

Movement whispered from the west as the sleek, metal frame of the stapler slid into view, all angles and hard edges in black and burnished steel. _“Again we meet, old fiend,”_ Lucifer murmured, advancing the doll forward without a thread of fear, for a Jedi Master feared not this riff-raff of archaic Imperial technology; the droid was of no consequence–

Staples fired, forcing the small Yoda to take cover behind the potted fern, still resolutely clinging to life in its acrid environment for no reason he could fathom; the thing must have had roots of a bristlecone pine. But more pressing, the stapler glided along the narrow passage between the monitor and the files, angling itself broadside and effectively sealing all ways of escape. This it knew, and so it reared, exposing the distinctive fang-shaped torpedo bays in a vicious display of bravado. But that’s when Yoda shuffled into view, his stubby yarned appendage yearning forward as Lucifer manoeuvred him into position. Truly, what the droid failed to realize was that it didn’t stand chance. One steeled look and the stapler levitated from the desk, spinning hapless. _“The Force you do not have!”_ was the triumphant cry.

“Hey Luce,” Ella popped around the corner. “Chloe said–”

The stapler went clattering, bouncing off the corner and careened onto the floor as Lucifer straightened, pulling his feet from the desk.

“Whatcha doing?” the stapler came to a sliding halt at her feet.

“Nothing of consequence,” he assured, setting the Yoda back onto the desk. “Although I would like to know who’s kidnapped the real Detective and replaced her with a clone who has watched _Star Wars_ …?”

“Oh, Yoda-baby’s on me,” she grinned, “and let me guess: you didn’t have the internet wherever you were either, so haven’t seen _The Mandalorian;_ that’s fine, we’ll fix that.”

“Yoda’s baby?” he repelled further from the creature. “Why ever would anyone think an 800-year-old Jedi Master would go and do a preposterous thing like that?”

“Oh, well, it’s not like it’s _Yoda’s baby_ , at least we don’t–” she stopped mid-sentence, a look coming to her eyes. She was suddenly glancing around the prescient before pushing the stacks aside to sit on top the desk. “Well, _maybe_ he just thought it was... _time._ Like, for a change?” she prompted, when only confusion met her. “Something new to challenge himself with?”

“A _change_ is going with the black jedi hood instead of the brown, and if he wanted that sort of challenge he could have just taken on another padawan, but wait, no, last one right near did him in. Glowing review, that.”

“That went waaay more Oedipus than I was angling for,” she straightened slightly. “But yeah, I totally support that it’s not for everyone. Though you know… sometimes things happen in a way you weren’t... expecting. Because what you _were_ expecting, wasn’t what you expected… like, you know, _that thing_ you thought you wanted, or _didn’t_ want, and turns out it wasn’t anything like you were expecting after all?”

“At this point, I’m not expecting you to arrive at whatever your focal point actually is.”

She shrugged, causally evasive. “You know. Just to be open... to new expectations.” She picked up the stapler as she slipped down, setting it neatly onto the desk. “Well, I gotta get back, but when you see Chloe, let her know I’ve just put in for a few more tests. Probably nothing, but if they pan out, she’ll be the first to know.”

“Of course,” he brushed her off, absently returning the stacks to their conventional parallel arrangement and brushing the loose staples into the dustbin. The desk even looked to be mostly in order by the time the Detective returned.

“The Lieutenant’s given the go-ahead – strictly for the surveillance,” she began, speaking briskly and waving Dan over to infer. “So if Lilith is on board, this is happening. I’ll want her to wear a wire, and under no circumstances is she to leave with anyone. And if there’s any trouble, we pull her.” Dan nodded in agreement and she turned to her partner. “Then I guess it’s all on Lilith; I assume she’s currently with Amenadiel?”

“I left the two of them at the penthouse this morning and haven’t heard a peep from either, so can only assume they’ve not burned the place down yet.”

“Would you mind giving her a call? We can head over, but this allows her the chance to say ‘no’ before we start bringing everything together…”

“Lilith saying ‘no’ to a game of human-baiting? Not likely,” but he’d pulled out his phone and was already dialing.

Chloe returned her attention to Dan. “Do you _really_ think this is a good idea?”

“You haven’t said no either,” he shrugged. “And I mean, if Maze takes anything after her mom… might not be her we have to worry about.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t really make me feel better,” she looked back as Lucifer, still on the phone, gestured an enthused ‘thumbs up’ signal towards them. “And it looks like we’re on.”

“I’ll confirm as soon as I’ve got the unit set,” Dan was already heading out, eager to be finally moving forward on something, and on that she had to agree. “We’ll meet you at LUX.”

By this point Lucifer had pocketed his phone again and was by her side. “Well now, look at us – officially reinstated partners, back into the swing with an officially boring surveillance operation getting underway! All this needs is some strategically contrived devilish high-jinx to be _just_ like old times!”

She was already shaking her head, swatted him with the folder she was holding in an attempt to shoo him towards the door. “Let’s go.”

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

The Penthouse looked worse than it had the day before – as if a library had unravelled over every available surface, post-it notes jotted here and there in some vain attempt to organize the tabs, except there was a hundred of them open, and one was playing music. Lucifer physically balked as he stepped from the lift, glancing at the sea of manuscripts with growing dismay. “Brother? We had rules…”

“Luci!” Amenadiel popped his head from the corridor that led into the study, his face lit with a sort of reckless enthusiasm, “I know! Rules that are _meant_ to be massaged, redefined, and with a focused course of due diligence, further amended!”

“How can you take a motto that is clearly mine and manage to make it sound so tediously boring when it’s coming out of your mouth,” he gaped at him. “But I am to understand from this rampant and rambling glee that you’re finally onto something definitive?”

“As definitive as a six-hundred page treatise on any subject can be,” Linda emerged from the room looking far more guarded, but that could have been her pragmatic professionalism, present even when dressed down in slacks and an oversized hoodie.

“600 pages?” Chloe quietly clarified.

“Yes!” beamed Amendiel.

“You have out-done yourself, brother,” Lucifer continued to stare.

“I _know,”_ he just gleamed.

“He really doesn’t,” Lilith murmured impassively, appearing over the Detective’s shoulder as if materializing from the ether; Maze _definitely_ inherited that one.

“When did he even have time to write 600 pages?”

“Last night; and it started at nine hundred; we’ve talked him down.”.

At this point Chloe could only shake her head.

Lucifer manoeuvred his way through the heaping books and manuscripts to the bar, finding barely enough space between the piles to pour two drinks. “I hope this means now that some of the more extraneous collections might be put away?”

“I guess we did get a little carried away with the paperwork,” his brother admitted.

“Yes, with the paperwork,” Linda sighed. She reached the bar as Lucifer circled back around, passing one of the glasses to Chloe as he crossed towards his brother. She started to protest, but Linda cut her off, taking the glass and downing it in a gulp. “I got this,” she asserted with a brisk nod of her head, although the look on the other’s face remained curiously unconvinced.

Amenadiel had by this point retrieved his magnum opus, sweeping room onto the coffee table with a broad gesture that sent a stack of bound & tubed scrolls cascading onto the floor. Lucifer, who had just sat down on what little viable seating remained of his leather sectional, lifted his feet as they tumbled by. “Lovely. Please tell me the Dead Sea scrolls have served a greater purpose than bringing the fire code into question.”

“I had to be thorough,” he opened the first page revealing a tight, neat scrawling of words, beautifully formed and written. “Michael’s a stickler for details, and you know he’ll have Raphael and Phanuel go over the document with a scrying glass. So I’d like you to read it,” he said.

“Ah, I’m sure it’s all exhaustively comprehensive and pedantic – perfect for a little light choir reading in heaven, but not exactly my type–”

“Please,” he said quietly. “For Charlie.”

The sigh was reluctant but hard won. “I suppose I might skim a few…”

Chloe leaned against the bar, watching them. “Six hundred pages.”

“Yup,” Linda had refilled her glass with the solid reasoning that it was after five somewhere.

Lilith took the bottle when she finished and downed a swig directly from the source. “You’re looking at this the wrong way; what better time to slip in and take the babe than when they're busy reading _that_ thing.”

“You can really just do that?” Chloe redirected her focus. “I thought only celestials could cross the barriers; and you still need wings for that, don’t you?”

She turned her head, setting aside the bottle. “You’re correct; crossing beyond the mortal realms is generally a really bad idea, for the mortal; however, I’m the beneficiary of a very specific oversight procured through a rather significant loophole. And wings have never been the only way in and out, but it helps to have… certain blessings.”

“We’re all here for the loopholes,” Linda concurred.

Lilith shifted the conversation again. “So this ‘sting operation’, as you call it – all you wish me to do is lure the malefactors out, and talk with them?”

“Uh, yeah. Pretty much that,” she affirmed. “You won’t be in any danger, because Lucifer, Dan and I will all have eyes on you at all times. And from what we’ve gathered, we don’t suspect that the people the Church send here are the same ones who’ve harmed the other women; they may not even have any connection, but, it’s what we have to work with right now.”

“How many have they killed?” her face remained contemplative.

“Three,” she answered quietly. “So far.”

“Mmm, merely whetting the appetite; still a waste though, if they were innocents.”

“Well, of course they were, because the Church of the Last Judgment is crazy, and what happened to them is completely unjustifiable. You _saw_ the crime photos in the lab–”

“Indeed; but what crime did _they_ believe the women to be guilty of?”

“Take your pick,” she shook her head. “Remember, crazy people.”

“Within every morally definitive organization, there is a hierarchy of sin,” she related, her fingers absently toying with the satin pouch tied at her waist. “Whatever they were accused of, it was very grave. All that ceremony, all those minute details…every attempt was made to ward off the margin of error – that their prayers be properly received, the repentance acknowledged, and the perceived violations irrefutable rectified... all because they themselves lived in terror of it.”

“Cults control through fear; it could be anything.”

“Lucifer always believed the way to know a person’s heart was through their desires,” her eyes drifted to where the brothers still sat, over looking over the manuscript. “He’s not wrong, but it doesn’t always provide the whole picture. I say, if you want to know a person’s true motivations, you need only look to their fears. Which do _you_ think is stronger?”

“Between my clients, it’s a solid 50/50 split,” Linda sloshed her drink up for an imaginary toast. “Except for the ones who believe it’s their dead parrot telling them what to do. You’d be really surprised how many of those I have.”

Chloe took her gently by the arm. “How about we sit down?”

“Noooo,” she firmly shook her head. “The last thing I want is to sit and think about my problems.” She cast her attention around the room, settling finally on the buried counter behind them. “Why don’t we bring these back into the study? Before Amenadiel starts adding footnotes,” the last part was said in a whisper.

She nodded agreement, turning to find that Lilith had apparently disappeared back into the ether from which she came… _totally_ Maze’s mother; not that she would ever mention it out loud, out of a healthy attachment to remaining alive. She carefully gathered the nearest stack of leather-bound books and followed Linda’s lead.

The cozy study was lined with bookcases and sleek cabinets, smelling of leather and wood polish and books; a mahogany secretary desk tucked into the corner where a lamp was lit, providing the main light source, diffuse and warming. A pair of dark leather arm chairs rested to either side of a low table which had succumbed to the same clutter and clumps of books as the rest. There were gaps in the shelves from where volumes had been removed, and stacks on the floor in front of them where they had been temporarily homed, possibly in a system to explain their usage or usefulness. Chloe stepped carefully around them as she entered, her eyes roving up the shelves to where they met the ceiling, painted in the darkest navy and accented with tiny gold stars. She thought she recognized a constellation or two. Below, in sharp contrast, disorder was everywhere. “Is there a place where these are going or...?” she trailed off, frowning at the mess.

“Far wall,” Linda set her own armful down with an ungraceful thud. “Amenadiel or Lilith will have to re-shelve them, because you know what? I don’t read Sumerian. Or Sanskrit, or apparently any of these dead languages that, if I’d only known, I might’ve been able to help my son.”

“Linda,” she breathed sadly, but the other woman only shrugged.

“It probably doesn’t matter anyways, because what can I do? Because hey – human here, and my baby was taken by angels. _Angels._ Like something right out of the Book of Revelations! How can I respond to that? My brain doesn’t know how to respond to that. And Amenadiel said they won’t hurt him, they’re actually trying to protect him? maybe? And I guess I have to believe him, and I _want_ to… but do you know what is the _absolute worst?”_

She stood, arms folded over herself and her body stiff, her eyes finding no fixed point and roaming the small room as she spoke. But now they sought hers again, and Chloe could only shake her head. Linda drew in a shallow breath. “It’s the times when I forget. When I think he’s just… gone down for a nap…”

She was crossing the room, her arms encircling the hunched form as silent tremors racked her body, running her hand in quiet circles across her back. She didn’t say anything; there was nothing to say. So she held on until the whimpers began to subside, trying not to think about the unfairness of a world that let mothers lose their children and where angels guarded no one.

Finally, Linda took long, shaky breath, receiving the offered tissue without a word. When she finally did speak again, her voice was flat. “I really want to punch God in the face.”

Chloe held her reaction back with a hand.

“I know, I’m going to Hell for that. And, other things,” she tipped her head to the side.

“I think there’s at least two angels who’d challenge on your behalf,” she noted gently, “for what it’s worth.”

Linda slowly nodded. “I shouldn’t be so hard on Amenadiel; heaven knows he’s trying. ...or not? Actually, I don’t think Heaven knows a damn thing about anything.”

“600 pages could be a good start, then.”

It was a small chuckle, but it loosened her chest. Linda straightened, pushing her focus outside of herself and turning to the woman beside her. “How are you two doing?”

“We’re having dinner tonight, we’re going to talk about things,” the response was prepared and technical.

She leaned over to squeeze her hand. “Don’t over think it. Put it out there, then give yourselves time to process.”

“So you think it’s going to go about that well too, huh?”

“I think you both have a lot on your plate right now, and you’ll want to acknowledge that. But Chloe – you’ll figure this out. _Together._ It’s not all on you. Remember that.”

She nodded, mostly, so she wouldn’t have to speak.

“And I’m still here for you – both of you – if you need to talk. I mean, I highly doubt I’m sleeping tonight. But hey – maybe you won’t be sleeping much tonight either.”

“... _Linda!”_

“It’s been what, 13 weeks was it? And don’t underestimate the potency of post-coital conversation.”

“And that’s your professional opinion.”

“Well, maybe not _entirely_ professional,” she grinned. “But I definitely recommend it.” She tucked the tissue into the pocket of her hoodie, turning to size up the room with a calculating kind of countenance. “I suppose this means we should definitely clear the books off the bed, as a priority. And any other places you were thinking of having a go-–”

“I’m grabbing the next pile,” Chloe was through the door before Linda had finished her sentence, the other following lightly behind her. They set diligently to work sorting and clearing, while the brothers sat quietly in their midst, the thick book spread between them, a hand-written treatise of hope.

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

Her cell phone went off just as they emerged from the theatre and under the bright, airy skylights of the mall interior. “Hi, Dad!” Trixie grinned as she answered. The trio of girls came to a halt beside her while she listened to the other end.

“Mrs. Rodriguez _again?_ Why couldn’t you get to Abby to watch me, she at least knows what a Pokemon is. ...that late, huh? I guess that means we’re not going to be playing _Clue_ tonight, either… you _know_ I’ll be expecting cake... No, I’m fine – Addison’s doing a fantastic job of watching us. Uh-huh… Yup, outside the Sweet Shoppe… I will. Okay. And you be careful, and tell mom and Lucifer to be careful too…Uh-huh. Love you too, Dad. Bye!”

“Sitter again?” Ava offered a knowing look.

“Yup,” Trixie stuffed the phone back into her pocket.

“That sucks,” she commiserated.

“It’s fine,” Trixie shrugged it off. “Mrs. Rodriguez lets me stay up as late as I want, and Dad’s got a stake-out. So I don’t actually have to sleep tonight.”

“I can’t stay up past ten,” supplied Hailey. “Mom says I’m cranky.”

“I’ve only made it past midnight once,” Trixie admitted, digging her water bottle out of her backpack and squirting a stream into her mouth, “That’s ‘cause Maze and I decided to make cookies, but Maze didn’t cut them out of the tube and they EXPLODED inside of the oven. And the self-cleaning setting doesn't actually clean things, at least not when there’s cookie batter all over. Probably leaving the cardboard inside was the big problem. We ended up playing Aliens vs Predator in the back alley way until the smoke cleared out of the apartment. It was the best night _EVER.”_

“I wish Maze would be my sitter,” Hailey sighed.

“I don’t think you could handle her,” Trixie said, though not unkindly.

Addison, ever the older sister and determined to prove how responsible she was, made a big show of consulting with her watch. “We have just over half an hour until our parents get here, so if you kids want ice cream, we don’t have time to go through the mall.”

“Ice cream!” said Trixie and Hailey in unison.

Ever the younger sister, Ava scrunched up her nose. “We’re all _kids_ you know; you’re only 3 years older than me.”

“So you don’t want ice cream?” she groused.

“Of course I want ice cream,” she snarked back, then something caught her eye and drew her features up into a saucy grin. “Are you sure _you_ don’t want to say here and hang around the mall with _your boyfriend?”_

All eyes turned, and Addison shook her head with exasperation. “I told you, I don’t even _know_ him! He’s not even in my class!”

The boy in question, who had been sitting on the ledge beneath one of the large, rooted ficus trees that lined the centre of the isle – okay, maybe sitting was a generous term, he was mostly sprawled across the tiled enclosure, partially into the geranium bed that lined the base, the back of his head resting against the trunk as if something intriguing had captured all of his attention in the upper branches – froze in place when sensed their eyes upon them. His head tilted just slightly to confirm this, though most of his face was concealed beneath the shock of thick, dark hair. Then he rolled himself off the edge of planter and out of sight behind it.

“He’s definitely been following us,” Trixie concurred with Ava.

“He’s _really_ weird,” Hailey made a face. “It’s a good thing he’s not your boyfriend.”

“Come on,” Addison gestured with deliberation towards the door. “Do you guys want ice cream or not?”

The parlour was across the street from the Mall, nestled amongst the row of coffee shops and small bistros that lined the avenue, the front window framed like an old fashion candy shop with elaborate wooden trim in gaudy colours and signs painted in bold, hand-lettered ink. The shop was bustling, the air conditioning whirring fiercely to keep up with the revolving stream of customers through the door. Ava and Hailey found seats while Trixie and Addison stood in line to collect their orders, and when they converged again the conversation quickly turned to the movie they’d just watched, about a girl who’d found a genie in her toothpaste tube, and to what wishes they’d make if met with the same proposition.

Trixie was grinning because Ava’s golden standard in wish-fulfillment always involved super powers and the ability to talk to horses. Hailey wanted to commune with dead people. Addison began by saying she was too old to waste time on something as ridiculous as magic wishes, before launching into a meticulously thought-out and elaborate scheme to save the rainforest.

Sunlight flickered. She chased the drips of melting chocolate down her fingers with her tongue, the viscous flow of traffic beyond the large bay windows reflecting the slanted light outside and scattering it across the table. When a truck paused briefly, the light shuddered; in her mind’s eye the tremor broke across the sand, the shifting pools of golden sand splattered black with blood.

“Trixie – your cone! You’re making a mess–” Addison was reaching forward with a napkin, trying to scoop the slowly flowing disaster and form it back into the cone. “Honestly, you’re such a space case sometimes!”

Trixie’s eyes fluttered to the lump of ice cream on the table, blinking in confusion as to how it got there. She looked up, out through the wide bay windows. “He’s back.”

Hailey had jumped up to get more napkins, leaving Ava to handle the question. “Who’s back?” she turned in her chair. “Oh, it’s Mall Boy. I _knew_ it – _Addison's gotta boyfriend…”_

“He’s not my boyfriend!” her sister squeaked, very calmly losing her cool.

“He’s definitely stalking you,” she smirked.

“He can’t do that,” Trixie declared evenly. “That’s really uncool. Someone needs to tell him he’s out of line.”

She was up and out the door before Hailey returned with the napkins. _“Trixie!”_ Addison called after her in dismay, sensing the situation was unravelling and that this was _not_ going to look good on her babysitter’s resume. “We have to stay _together!”_

“She’s totally going to kick his ass,” Ava chirped gleefully.

 _“Language!”_ was her futile cry.

“Well she is!”

“That’s not any better!”

But Ava, who had complete confidence in her friend’s ability to neutralize any sort of situation, only smiled wider. “Oh, it will be…”

On the street, Trixie glared the up and down the busy pavement, hands fisted at her side in determination. Through the scramble of pedestrians she couldn’t spot the boy now, finally going with her gut and picked a direction.

She didn’t have much to go on; she’d never seen him before, he’d been wearing dark clothing – skinny pants and a long shirt with strange cuffs bound at the wrists – which in retrospect, had looked oddly out of place, although she hadn’t got a good look at them before he gave them the slip. Maze would probably have something to say about that if she knew; then again, Maze would have probably taken him out back at the mall. She plowed down the sidewalk, the crowds parting for her only because it would be too much of an inconvenience to notice the ten-year-old barrelling down the street unattended.

The sound of a placard tumbling in front of the pizza shop turned her head. The boy made a half-hearted attempt at righting it, but instantly dropped when their eyes met. Then he was off, weaving through the crowded sidewalk like a collie cutting sheep and she had to pound payment just to keep up.

 _“Hey!”_ she belted after him. “I have something to say to you!”

He heard her, his head ducking as if to avoid the words, and kept going. Just before the next intersection he careened to the right and dove down a narrow alley.

She skidded to a halt, looking at the lane way with confliction. It continued another twenty feet before being truncated by a tall chain link fence. The way between was strewn with refuse and cardboard boxes and generally just smelled bad. It was absolutely the sort of place her parents would tell her never to go – it was dangerous, there could be needles on the ground, mentally unstable people sleeping in the boxes who when startled could be unpredictable – and she really tended to agree with them on all points. But her heart was still pounding, and in the distance she heard her friends calling too. Besides, there was no other way out of the alley.

“I know you’re in there!” she hollered down the gap. “I know you were following us, and that is _so not cool.”_

There was no answer.

Hell-bent, she pressed into the dim, feeling the shadows slide across her face as she crossed the threshold. The sounds of the street melted away like frost. It was cooler here too, surprisingly so, and the change in temperature prickled her nose. A heavy clunk from somewhere behind the boxes gave her pause, but she held her ground, braced and unmoving, standing for all the world to know she had no intention of backing down. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you _do not_ get to treat my friends that way! Now come out here and apologize, or do I have go down there and make you?”

The dog came from nowhere, exploding through the shadows and shredding the silence to pieces with its bark.

For a fraction of a second she was frozen. In the span of that second, every feasible emotion struck against chest, igniting the urge to run, to cry, to question why bad things happened, why so many things happened that never made any sense. But if Maze had taught her anything, it was that everyone else was just as confused and uncertain about the world as you (except maybe Maze) and the key to owning any situation was simply to act the part.

“BAD DOG, _SIT DOWN!”_

The words were out of her mouth before she knew who said them. The dog, surprised, tried to alter course mid-air and came to a sprawling halt, rear end planting itself on the ground and legs akimbo.

Her heart was beating hard, her mouth open, and she was staring at the dog.

The dog, his mouth open and trying not to pant, was regarding her with wild, orange eyes.

Wild eyes, _definitely_ orange, _definitely_ sparking red and maybe glowing, _just_ a little bit?

Trixie peered a little closer. The dog leaned back, avoiding her advance.

He was a large dog, smooth-faced with a long nose and ears erect like a shepherd, his coat dark and brindled like the shifting of shadows, shaggy-looking, and very much in need of a brushing. His face was also full of confusion, as if he hadn’t actually _intended_ to listen to her, but in moment decided it was something he didn't want to risk.

“That’s better,” she said cautiously, mostly just to see what the dog would do. It cocked its head. Nostrils flared, but he didn’t move any further. “It’s very bad manners to bark at someone like that. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

His posture shifted, as if seriously considering this information. Perhaps she had a point. It didn’t seem to him to be outside the realm of possibility, and she _did_ seem to know what she was talking about. His ears drooped just slightly.

“That’s right, rude behaviour will get you nowhere,” she nodded easily, her hands coming to rest on her knees as she lowered herself to his level. “You really didn’t really _mean_ to be all snarly like that, did you?”

 _Did he?_ His ears swiveled like radar dishes, as if he could tune the answers from the airs. He stilled as she continued to gaze at him, her eyes narrowed and seeking. He flared his nostrils, bringing the scent of her towards him again in a rush, a bouquet of earthly scents, wrapped in certain sweetness and mingling with something that smelt inexplicably like home.

His nose came forward, nearly at her chest, and he inhaled.

There it was, that trace of memory that clung like ash, of smoky skies and basalt hardened underfoot; he hadn’t been mistaken at all.

His tail began thumping involuntarily.

Now Trixie herself had somewhat limited exposure to dogs. Her mother didn’t seem to like them (something she still actively blamed on The Kraken) and had Dad explained, at length, on multiple occasions, that a dog was something that just didn’t fit their lifestyle because they cost a lot and needed a lot of attention, just like kids (it wasn’t said affectionately, but he’d been pretty definitive on the matter of a dog). So her exposure was limited to the dogs her friends had, which consisted of Hailey’s mother’s wholly unlikable chihuahua and her friend Braiden’s inexplicably hungry golden retriever. But she knew at some base level that dogs a) did not have glowing amber eyes, and b) didn’t pay attention to you that closely unless you were holding a food.

The dog in front of her was doing both; something was off here.

“You… aren't really a dog, are you?” she broached carefully.

The eyes snapped open, the tips of his ears nearly meeting at the top with how straight he held him. He wasn’t exactly frowning _per se,_ because the way a dog’s lips drooped it just wasn’t conducive to forming that tight a facial expression. But he definitely looked concerned.

“I won’t tell,” she assured him quickly. “It’s fine; if you don’t want anyone to know, your secret’s safe with me.”

From the street she heard someone calling her name, sounding more frantic now than before, and she really did feel bad about that. She looked back towards the dog, who absolutely wasn’t a dog, and didn’t feel good about simply leaving him here, either.

“Do you have some place to go? You don’t… like, live in the alleyway, do you? Because it’s kind of gross down here and it’s probably not very comfortable.” She gave the space a critical eye, and it really didn’t have any redeeming factors. The dog continued to tack her movements and she was taken by another thought. “Hey – have you eaten anything?” she turned, reaching suddenly for her backpack and causing the dog scramble backwards and away from her. “Wait!” she held out an offering – two larger, only slightly crumbled chocolate chip cookies, almost not even melted. “You can have them! I think chocolate isn’t good for dogs, but since I don’t think you’re really a dog, it’s probably okay?”

The air was bursting with sweetness like a wreath around her, sugar and nutty spices and something else he’d never smelled before that was utterly intoxicating. He edge forward again, his breath diffusing over her fingers as he practically inhaled her offering.

“Good boy,” she grinned.

It might have been the cookies. It might have been the way her scent reminded him of home. It was sudden and decisive but in that moment he knew there was nothing more he wanted than to be a part of her pack, to slay dragons for her and lay hell-hares down for her dinner, to curl upon the warm hearth and sleep with his back at her feet.

Movement flickered at the opening of the alley and instantly his body bristled, hackles rising at his neck while the growl thrummed deep in his throat.

“Trixie?!” the cry that drifted towards them was in alarm.

“It’s okay,” she murmured quickly. “Those are just my friends, you saw us together, remember? They’re good too. But, they’re going to be really scared of you if you keep growling like that, and then I won’t be able to take you home. So, you’ve got be quiet, and act like a good dog. Can you do that? And maybe… not make your eyes don’t glow too much right now?”

Having already made the decision to slay dragons on her behalf, not scaring the rest of her pack was no hair off his nose. His eyes dimmed to dark amber and his coat smoothed, looking less bristly and a lot more approachable. His tail thumped madly. When she said ‘good boy’ again, he felt like his chest might burst.

“I’m Beatrice by the way, but everyone calls me Trixie,” she told him, almost as an afterthought. “Do you have name?”

Still high on life and cookies he tipped his nose to the sky and howled. _“Berrrr-oooooooh!”_

“TRIXIE!” Ava shouted down the mouth of the alleyway. “Are you alright?!”

“Yeah – I found a dog, look!” she turned brightly. “Meet… Bear!”

Addison was only steps behind her sister with Hailey trailing right behind. “Trixie! You are in SO MUCH TROUBLE! We’re not supposed– _holy shit,_ what are you doing with that mangy animal?!”

 _“Language!”_ her sister gleefully crowed, but her eyes had never left the dog “It doesn’t have a collar, I bet that means that it’s a stray.”

“He’s adorable!” Hailey declared. “If your mom and dad don’t let you keep him, can I?”

But Trixie wasn’t really listening, having turned to her new companion and grinning as the weight of the situation settled in. She knew then that there was no way she was leaving Bear. _She had a dog._ Well, sure, he wasn’t _actually_ a dog, but for now it was probably better the fewer people who knew about that and they’d figure the rest out later. And she still had to convince her dad to let her keep him, but she had been saving a lot of karma points over the past few months and wouldn’t let them go to waste. Plus with all the money she’d been saving from her grandparents, there was no way he could claim she was irresponsible. But those were all problems she’d deal with as they arose. For now, she sunk her hands down in to his thick, dark fur and wrapped him in a firm hug.

And as for Beros, son of Skoll, begot of Kérberos who’d stood guard over the Gates of Hell since time immemorial, there was no place else in all the realms he found he’d rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious, Beros is modelled after the long-haired Dutch Shepherd:
> 
> [](https://photos.smugmug.com/photos/i-4gwXJ67/0/01e0e5ee/O/i-4gwXJ67.jpg)
> 
> My apologies for the unintended break; life - and chapter that refused all attempts at brevity - ated me. But the good news is that the next part should go up tomorrow. The bad news is the chapter after that will not arrive as instantaneously, though you'll probably wish it did >.> But I'm hoping to keep posting schedule going forward of every other week (or sooner, whenever I can).
> 
> In the meanwhile, watch the S5 Trailer again. Or not, if you don't like spoilers! (Let's just say I don't feel bad about channelling Homelander when writing Micheal now _at all_ )
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading along & leaving comments. It really makes all the difference some days <3


	12. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically part two of the previous chapter, so here you go!  
> Also some language; you know stuff's going down when you make the Devil swear.

The most curious aspect of any language are the words: those small, fragmented components that together make up the whole; which contain the of meaning everything, yet shift endlessly in denotation and both define and dismantle the world through the simple act of existing.

There are words so precise as to split atoms, while others slide languidly along tongue like comfort food, adding little substance but are so indulgently delicious all the same.

And then there are those small, unassuming constructs of the vernacular so commonplace and ubiquitous they have been allowed to consume and conquer, until one is brought to wonder _how_ it is possible that such a small scrap of a word could possibly encompass so much.

Both a verb and a noun, _‘fall’_ appears in the english dictionary with 264 separate entries.

That a word can both contradict itself and encompasses two conflicting points of reference while at the same time wholly and completely defining anything is mind-boggling, yet it does.

And yet it makes one ask, if this troubling afflictions conceals within an even harsher truth: _that in its endless drift perhaps it has become a thing with no real meaning at all?_

What if it was all meaningless…?

What if it was for nothing?

What does it really mean _to fall?_

To fall: the act of falling

_to descend freely by force of gravity_   
_to leave a position suddenly and involuntarily_   
_to stumble or stray_   
_to subside, abate, decline_   
_to lose office or suffer defeat_   
_to die in battle_   
_to become born_   
_to come by chance_   
_to come to pass_   
_to come within the limits or scope of something_   
_to pass suddenly and passively into a new state_   
_to set about heartily_   
_to strike, impinge_   
_to disintegrate_   
_to succumb_   
_to comply_   
_to produce no response or result_   
_to fail utterly_   
_to fall from grace_   
_to fall in love_

_fall…_

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

“You know Mrs. Rodrigez will let her stay up all night,” Chloe peered over the ledge.

Dan grimaced, but this was mostly due to him being on his back, under the counter, and pulling cables for the tech who was patching into LUX’s security cameras, which fed the signal directly to the surveillance van currently shut in the back loading bay. Mostly.

“Abby wasn’t available. And Olga doesn’t like driving across town when it’s a late night. And we agreed we weren’t going to complain about who the other got as sitters, so long as they’re from the list.”

“I wasn’t complaining, just putting it out there.”

“You _totally_ were.”

Lucifer, who was watching the proceeding with varying degrees of aversion, turned eagerly towards the distraction of the Detective’s phone when it began vibrating on the counter top beside him. “It’s Ms. Lopez!” he called brightly, but with number of bodies going in and out the small surveillance room she didn’t immediately hear him, so he answered on the third ring.

“Ella darling, how are you? The Detectives are both busy right now arguing about the Offspring, which is rather poor showmanship if you ask me… the Detectives’ offspring… what other offspring would they be quibbling about? …no, I quite assure you I don’t… no, I don’t believe I do… no, I think the character you’re describing is Sterling Archer, and I haven’t a clue how that relates to me... oh look, here’s the Detective now–” he handed off the phone as she drew up beside him.

“What’s up, Ella?” she gave her partner a questing look. “Well that’s certainly a start, send me the full employee list and I’ll have Lucifer look it over, see if any of them have recently dropped by LUX. Thank you for that.” She ended the call but kept the phone in hand for the incoming message alert, stifling a yawn. “What I wouldn’t give for a real cup of coffee right about now,” she complained, deciding she loathed the concept of decaf on principle.

“It’s not on me why you would go and give up a thing like that,” he ribbed lightly, although the look he received for his efforts had him rapidly countering his tracks. “But, no matter – I give this whole ordeal another two hours, tops,” he gestured to the busy work beyond as the surveillance crew set everything in place, the club itself currently empty but primed and waiting for the night to begin. “Then we can move on to the better things, and better beverages. Although I assume it’s still those ostentatiously fruity reds you’re most fond of…?”

Her face was more pensive then it should have been for a simple question like that. “Actually... I'm not really drinking these days, either.”

“Oh,” he accepted it at face value, although his gaze returned to his partner. She gave no further indication, but he noted the restless tensing of fingers as she played with her phone, her mouth holding a tight line. And although she’d done her make up today with its usual flawless simplicity, subtle lines of weariness still creased her features and settled around her eye. He frowned. “You’re not… feeling unwell, are you?”

The look was soft, but genuine. “No, I’m good. I am,” she smiled up at him. 

He returned it, warmly. “Alright. Milkshakes with dinner it is. Now is there anything else I should know about?”

For a fraction of a second her eyes dilated, just as her phone beeped into awareness and she turned, pulling up the new message file. By this point he was already peering over her shoulder, so she passed the device back to him. “Everyone who’s employed through the Church and its subsidiaries, in the past year; bit of a long shot, but would you recognize the people you saw here last night?”

“Let’s have look-see,” he began swiping through photos at an even pace, resting on each for only seconds. Concentration kept him quiet for a good minute. “Well, if this isn’t like the most disappointing Tinder runs of all time – oh, hello there,” he stopped. He turned the phone back around, tapping the screen triumphantly. “This would be Our Lady of Gloom & Doomsday. Also a little sexually conflicted about the Devil, but who can blame her.”

She took the phone and pulled up the rest of file. “Hannah White; they have her listed as a receptionist for the main office, but it seems she’s been at Revival at least part of the since May, if I’m reading the transcript properly; so, she would have been there when both Miranda and Ashley passed through… along with every other person who worked there too,” the phone thunked back onto the counter with frustration.

He stopped the phone from skidding across the granite with a finger. “She hardly seemed the deviant type, let alone murderous, unless making terrible life choices is a crime.”

“Sadly not,” Dan wedged into the conversation, quirking a brow.

“No need for the self-deprecation, Daniel, although props for the situational awareness it took to recognize that.”

His face contorted, but Chloe stepped neatly between the two, collecting her phone again. “I’ll get back to Ella and see if she can make any other connections for us,” she tapped out the message while she spoke. “We have less than an hour until opening; has Lilith been briefed with tech about the wire yet? And are we clear about where we’ll be tonight?”

“Tech was lovely,” the voice purred, Lilith sauntering into view with all smugness of a cat. “I’m wired; he’s recuperating.”

Dan’s other brow raised, then decided not to go there. Instead he returned his focus to Chloe. “Lilith will be on the floor, ideally holding position around booth nine, which gives us a clear line of sight from all sides. Lucifer will be doing what he normally does and trying not to blow everyone’s cover–”

“That happens _just twice_ and people never let up–-”

Chloe silenced him with a look.

Dan continued, “We have no reason to believe any of the recruiters will be armed, LUX security would be on that anyway, and we still have our plain-clothes guy out there if anything goes sideways. Plus you and I will be in the truck.”

Lucifer made a derisive sound in his throat. “The next time you insist putting someone under cover in my club, at least allow me the good grace of setting the dress code?”

They glanced over to the bar, where the plainclothes officer was currently set up with his laptop, causally dressed in dark slacks and a bowling shirt. “What’s wrong with Reyes?”

“Shall we take a wager on whether he’s made before or after the bartender pours the first drink?” he cavilled dryly. “But, no matter; anyone who tries to make a fuss needs only to be reminded this is still my club, and at this point I quite relish the idea of helping one of these wayward souls see the light, so to speak.”

“Not happening,” he held up a hand at the same time Chloe began shaking her head.

“Lucifer, I know that you _can,_ but there are too many risk factors here and I don’t want to take the chance–” she glanced towards Lilith “– of anything _unorthodox_ happening tonight. If it becomes a public safety issue–”

“I can keep it squarely within your 7.9 comfort zone, Detective,” his response was terse.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she steeled at him. “Remember, I’m going to be right through those doors in the loading bay, and I don’t know how… _far_ I need to be…”

Another expression broke over his face and the earlier bristle all but melted, giving way to a moment of quiet and incredulous confusion. But then he simply shrugged. “Call it an occupational hazard, and one that I’m willing to take,”

“Which you don’t _need_ to.”

“I would sooner have you far from harm’s way than avoid the necessary risk to my person.”

“Well, I’m _not_ sitting in the patrol car with Palmer across the street,” she ruffled, “so plan on that being _unnecessary.”_

“Actually,” Dan held up a finger, “while I followed about half of that, I’m not adverse to you being clear of the situation until we have it under control…?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she turned slowly, her gaze withering, and he parted hands in a show of submission.

Lucifer considered the situation. “Normally I’m not one to agree with the Douche, but here it does hold some merit.”

“And you’d be able to keep tabs from the car,” Dan tagged back in.

“While maintaining a safe distance.”

“Once we patch through a secure feed, you can monitor everything, call all the shots...”

“With no pesky mortality problems to rue the day.”

Dan just looked him. Then turned back to Chloe, advancing cautiously, the way one would a cornered animal. “If we’d thought of this sooner, we could’ve had the techs set up a suite in the Penthouse, but this still work. I know what you’re thinking, but hear me out–”

“I hear you,” she snapped. And she did, she understood his concern, as overtly misguided as it may have been and infuriated her right now, she knew it came from a good place. Instead she turned to her partner, arms folded. “Palmer’s parked on the side street, just east of LUX; is that far enough?”

“It isn’t like it’s something I’ve had an opportunity to test, and to be fair, nor was it particularly high on the list of things I’d like to attempt with you–”

“Okay, _fine,”_ she threw up her hands, the gesture getting lost somewhere as she turned on her heels. “I’ll be at the car; somebody stab him with a fork when I get there and let me know if he makes it.” The tech crew parted, freezing in place when she passed, tromping off towards the nearest exit.

“She’s joking, probably,” Lucifer settled with a waning expression as the crew resumed their work, but the man beside him was sniggering.

“I dunno, man,” he clapped him on the back.”Sounded pretty serious to me.” The haste with which he recoiled from the touch made Dan chuckle even more. “Look, I’m going to go give Palmer a heads up, then tell tech about the changes so they’ve got the feed patched to where it needs to go. Then we’ll get everyone on comm and make sure we’re all talking to each other before doors open.” He headed back through kitchen doors, towards to loading bay.

Lilith watched the proceedings, green eyes alert and fathomless. “What is it again we hope to achieve from this evening’s escapades?” she murmured quietly, holding Lucifer’s gaze in such a way he was compelled to answer or expect to contend with her until he did.

“To catch the bad guys,” he said stoically. “No more, no less, and I expect you to keep to your part.”

“But of course; the game is afoot.” She mused, her voice low and neutral, “though I am curious to know to what it is we’re playing; were it chess, I’d question your strategies.”

“No games,” his eyes hinted sharper tones, but these remained below the surface and in check. “Don’t think I’ll hesitate if you put anyone here in danger, are we clear?”

“Crystal,” she smiled. “Were only everything so transparent.”

He decided then he’d gone long enough without a drink and moved to the bar with an unhurried grace, Lilith trailing behind like a loose shadow, a reminder of all the things he would never truly escape. He turned his back on those thought to pour his selection, and the scotch both burned and soothed going down, a fitting summery of the day’s events.

On one hand, there was nothing he’d rather do than spend his day working alongside the Detective; except for the other things he’d like to do with the Detective, but these he kept mostly to himself, despite the fact that he suspected she entertained them too (it was not lost on him those small glances, when she thought he wasn’t looking, or the bra she was wearing, which endorsed at least another cup size; his strategy had been working splendidly until this morning, too, at which point may have forced a retreat into the refuge of the bathroom to both regroup and school himself). But it wasn’t just that – it had _never_ been just the things expected of someone like him. Along with those were voracious wants and desires he could drown himself within. That he wanted to take her and worship her body with his own, that went without saying; but that he wanted to give to her _every piece_ of himself, of his life, if only she wanted it – and he _wanted_ her to want it, deeply, desperately - to become as entrenched in his life as she had let him into hers.

As much as he knew it couldn’t be.

There was a staggering imbalance here, he was well aware. That his life was so vast and huge and sprawled through realms and across ages, that there were parts of himself she could never be expected to understand, parts of himself he hoped she’d never have to see. Of wars and desolation, of the loss of grace and they grey expanse of Hell. Why ever would he subject her to that?

He knew, what he always wanted, was for her to love him in spite of all that. She told him she did, and he would never doubt her words. But humans loved so brightly, fell into love, fell out of love, and loved with a will both freely given, and freely taken back again.

And she was mortal, a bright light to be sure, but one that would burn out just the same, and he would again be in the dark. Her love, her life, would be gone, where he could never follow. And he dreaded that day. He, an immortal who had never given Time any consequence, was suddenly burdened by the enormity of it, its weight a pendulum hanging over them.

Of the world shared between them, of experiences explored and made anew because with her, it was all new, all unfamiliar, where even the mundane became exquisite and dear. Where, when all had been said and done, of wanting nothing more than to lay beside her and watch the sky turn from night to day to night, as stars churned in an endless procession until their last reflection drowned in her eyes for the last time.

And despite all that, still _he wanted._

He wondered if any of these might be considered talking points for polite dinner conversation; the fact that he had to ask the question was proof enough he was definitely going to screw this up.

At the bar, Reyes closed his lap top after a brief consultation with the time. Beside him, Lilith had settled on the stool, her dress a deep red and slinking tight against her frame; she looked really, _really_ good for someone who was old enough to be Maze’s mother, although the second half of the equation ensured the response he presented was professionally tailored. “Hello there - please, call me Reyes; looks like I’ll be your eyes on the floor tonight. Nice to be working with you.”

Lilith inclined her head towards him, her smile similarly curt. “A pleasure, to be sure.”

“Great!” he leaned his elbows back against the bar, aware that the owner had come around again, ever the dominating figure even in silence with his drink balanced in hand. “I’m looking forward to this,” Reyes turned his address to the both of them. “It’s nice to get out for a change, not that I don’t enjoy the field work. See, my partner just transferred over to the Marine Unit, which is a good break and I support him, even though I really don’t go for boats myself; between you and me, too many crazy things can go amiss out at sea, what with instruments and geomagnetic interference and stuff. So, I’m glad I could offer my services here, helping out all of you tonight.”

Neither made any response, but he didn’t seem to mind, gazing up at the strung ceiling lights that shone like stars overhead. “Ever wonder sometimes about the vast cosmic forces within the universe that need to align _just so_ to make it all add up?” he put it out there to the room. “Call it... fate, call it luck, call it karma... I believe everything happens for a reason. How about you?

Lucifer made one of those strained, swallowed sounds and returned to down his tumbler of scotch before moving off to deal with more formative matters elsewhere. Lilith however only smiled at him, giving his arm a light squeeze by way of excusing herself.

Contented, Reyes sighed. “Nice how we always seem to end up just where we’re needed to be.”

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

_This is_ not _where I needed to be,_ Chloe punched the dashboard again. Beside her, Palmer glanced up from his logbook and chanced another curious look her way.

“Sorry,” she offered, mollified, and she meant it; she really did, just as she had the other six times.

Palmer returned to the books; Chloe returned to giving the glove compartment the brunt her captious glare; the glove compartment remained unmoved. She knew, in part, her anger was misdirected; the glove box had done nothing wrong. The dashboard was completely innocent. Palmer was a saint, but also oblivious to the turmoil of thoughts tumbling through her head.

She figured she had about one month, tops.

One month before it would be difficult to conceal and when the department would insist she remain on desk duty, for liability reasons. And you know, she tended to agree with them, even as she continued to resent the implications of that change.

Across the street, the queue for LUX had breached the main foyer and wove its way down the sidewalk, winding into view like a bedazzled serpent, the sidewalk glittered with women dressed to the nines and men every bit as beautiful. Night brought out the stars, the wisps, and the fireflies all the world over, but in this city it seemed everyone seized the opportunity to illuminate. She knew doors had just opened, and Dan had confirmed readiness each time she’d asked, which was more times now than she cared to admit. Night had fallen around the patrol car too, but more as an afterthought, and without all the glitz and circumstance happening on the other side of the street.

One month, and she had no idea what her life might look like then.

She refused to even enter into the equation where Lucifer might be, or what their relationship would entail. She wasn’t so naive to not have thought about the complications of that relationship; she’d literally been thinking about it _for years._ And each time she had, she’d fallen for him - headlong and completely, slipping into that free-fall until there was no ground left to catch. And that was before all the cards had been on the table. And even after, when they were spread and she’d seen their faces, she’d gone and chosen him again.

Because she loved him, in this doubtless, immoderate sort of way that seemed incongruous with everything she believed about herself, but it was true.

He loved her. She knew that. But it was never an easy kind of love; she’d known that going in. He lived like a tempest, one moment blowing fierce and bold as if nothing could sway the vehemence of his course, the next a whispering caress leaving goosebumps on her skin, and then – _gone_ – the moment after. Love was supposed to be the answer, but love didn’t stop her heart from breaking, or reality from being anything else than what it was. It didn’t work like that. Life had consequences, love needed conclusions, and all the ballads in the world couldn’t change that. And wanting something, no matter how desperately or selflessly, wouldn’t make it true.

 _He wasn’t human._ That realization no longer left her heart beating out of order, or sent her scrying for better answers, settling simply into the collection of _Things She Knew about Lucifer Morningstar_. A collection that had always had large holes in it, but now they taunted her from a place reeking of self-doubt. She had always relied on the fortitude of her own grit, her ability to make sense of the world and derive choices that upheld the greater good, and if this past year had shown her anything, it was how far she could fail. Derry Mathieson had not been incorrect; her shortcomings were notable and of consequence. _She’d nearly married Pierce. She’d let Father Kinley lead her terribly astray. And she’d tried to convince the Devil he didn’t exist, simply because she didn’t see him that way._ She hadn’t seen a damn thing, when it was right in front of her eyes. An Angel. And she would never be more than an ordinary, slightly broken and neurotic human, just like all the rest. She could never be everything he needed, and she knew that. If she ever doubted she only had to look and see how he became the focal point in any circumstance, drawing to himself everything the world offered – every pleasure, every indulgence, every desire; he relished them, he consumed them, he ruled them all. She could never be enough. How had she ever expected to be enough? Sometimes, she made such a mess of things.

And here she was, about to do it again, and break his world apart over dinner. Tell him something that would be seen as an affront to his sensibilities, or worse, incense within him that acute perception – the loss of autonomy, a grand manipulation, the relinquishment of control – of everything he despised most.

She just hoped he wouldn’t hate her when it was over.

Her phone rang, jolting her upright, although at this point Palmer didn’t bother looking over. She employed the new position to retrieve the phone, as if that had been her intention all along. “What’s up, Ella?”

“Tell me how much you love me right now!” the voice on the other end was babbling.

She couldn’t _not_ smile at that much enthusiasm. “You know I love you, what have you got?”

“Hannah White,” she began, “the receptionist you asked me to look into? Well, she’s not really a receptionist, more like an intake person for all the people coming through for the Church’s various services – counselling, community outreach, family support, whatever – and she definitely worked closely with Derry Mathieson, there are a shit-tonne of pictures of them together all over their website dating back at least a couple years.”

“Hang on,” Chloe reached for the comm pack that provided her a direct link to the surveillance van. “Let me get Dan in on this,” she flicked the button. “Hey Dan–”

“We’re fine, same as the last time you asked. It’s busy, but nothing out of the ordinary, no sign of our perps; though if Lucifer comes back here and takes my cheetos one more time–”

“Dan…”

“The man has a whole kitchen! But _nooo,_ ‘let’s everybody eat Dan’s food’... I swear, Clo–”

“I have Ella on speaker phone,” she bridged calmly. “She’s found us some info on Hannah White and Derry Mathieson.”

“And it’s _so_ good!” Ella gleefully professed. “You see, Hannah had access to all the intake files, not only that, it seems she was at least in part responsible for deciding who was accepted into the programs and where they ended up. So it’s super likely would have crossed paths with Miranda or Ashley, or anyone else within of the program. She also worked closely with Derry on several large project, the most recent being implementing the shelter program at Revival. But wait, there’s more!” she held for the imaginary drum roll.

“Oh, do go on,” entered a devilish voice over the comm, followed by Dan again, sounding irked.

“What part of _‘staying on the floor’_ wasn’t clear enough the last three times? You don’t even _like_ stake-outs!”

“But I _like_ cheese doodles, and you have the yummy ones.”

Chloe sighed. “Still with us, Ella?”

“10-4,” she confirmed. “Now are you ready for this? Hannah was married, but recently divorced; and yes, that is relevant because – Hannah White, née Donohugh, is the youngest sister of James Donohugh, currently serving 25 years for his daughter Meila’s murder. And you’re welcome.”

“Very nicely done, Miss Lopez! Now I rather wish I’d pried a little harder when she dropped by–.”

“No prying of any suspects until I’m there,” she interjected firmly. “I mean, a lot is still purely circumstantial right now, but it’s enough to make her a person of interest and we’ll arrange to speak with her first thing tomorrow. That’s fantastic work, Ella; thank you.”

“That’s what I’m here for! At least, for the next half hour or so. After that I gotta get home or Margaret starts to get a bit squirrelly.”

A rapping struck her window and Chloe nearly jumped again, until she confirmed that the figure outside was the usual kind of a demon. She rolled the window down.

“‘Sup losers,” Maze grinned, leaning in to rest her arms against the sill. She was dressed in her usual black leather, but the top was looking less tribal an more dominatrix, which suggested a night out on the town. “Looks like another riveting evening you’ve got set up for yourself, Decker. Heya Bruce,” she waggled her fingers at him through the window.

“Hey Maze,” Palmer roused from his paperwork long enough to return the wave.

“Maze!” chirped Ella over the speaker. “Still really sorry about using your mom as bait and all–”

She snorted. “Use her as target practice for all I care. And no Ellen, even if you do, we are _not_ going back to that new-age mod club, nor will bubbles ever be considered ‘cool’ or ‘euphoric’. If I wanted to be surrounded be sweet-smelling glops of soap scum I’d do my own laundry,” she visibly shuddered.

“It’s still _Ella_ , but that’s cool, we can just do the tiki bar again.”

“Glad that’s settled, but some of us are still working here,” impatience bit her words a little harder than she intended, but Chloe held to them.

“You might want to tell that to your partner again,” Dan’s voice was piqued.

She almost didn’t want to ask. “Lucifer?”

“It’s not on _me_ that Daniel has no sense of altruism, besides, he’s being rather testy over some vague sense of proprietorship.”

_“THEY WERE LABELLED!”_

“Can someone at least confirm that Lilith is in position?” she muffled the response into her hand.

Reyes’ voice broke over the line. “Can confirm, Lilith is holding at booth nine.”

“For now,” Maze smirked. “But hey, when things go sideways, don’t say I didn’t warn you all.”

 _“Maze…”_ the cry came from several sources at once.

“Eh. Can’t blame humans for thinking like a human, I guess. But Lucifer’s an idiot if he thinks he has a handle on this one,” she directed the last part towards comm.

“Have you forgotten whom you are addressing, Mazikeen?,” his voice dipped, running cold. “I did not spend the last decade in Hell to have some demon infer my control over its denizens is anything but absolute–”

“Whatever,” she scoffed. “I know when I’m not wanted.” She pushed back from the car with enough emphasis it rocked.

“Maze, wait– I’m going off comm,” Chloe was passing the phone and handset vaguely towards Palmer in her rush to get out of the car. “Maze, hang on.”

She’d already crossed the street, and Chloe waited for the break in traffic. Cars sped by, oblivious, and by the time she slipped between them the demon had skulked half way up the block. She wasn’t sure if curiosity or pity finally made her pause, but she’d take it. “Maze, you _know_ it’s not like that, right?”

“What?” she turned, the expression clearly framed, that while she’d _stopped_ , she had little intention of actually listening.

She chose her words carefully, and landed the point. “We’re not choosing to work Lilith over you.”

Maze bristled. “That’s not what Amenadiel said.”

“Amenadiel’s worried about Charlie. It’s one of those ‘pesky emotion’ things,” she supplied more gently. “I know he didn’t mean it in the way it sounded. He was just really upset.”

“Because I failed.”

“Maze, you didn’t fail, there was no way you could have stopped that. But Charlie’s alive, Trixie too. And you’re still here. That means _everything_ to me.”

“Yeah, well… you always did have questionable standards,” she scuffed at an errant pebble with her shoe. “Little miss ‘no, we can’t get the giant Kanamara Matsuri inflatable because what would the neighbours think.’ Weirdo.”

A small laugh escaped, which was better than tears, and those she could feel brimming again too. Damn hormones. She was suddenly exhausted, and it wasn’t even past nine. “That one’s still a no, by the way,” it was worth mentioning, just in case Maze misread the situation, because it’s not like it hadn’t happened before; it really made so much sense in retrospect, knowing her roommate was demon. The thought made her smile, probably, because she was a crazy person. “But I mean it – Lilith being involved is only because it’s one of the few leads we have, and if it can help prevent another person dying, I need to try. But... I want the truth – what do I really need to know about Lilith?”

The pebble skipped away as she straightened, her shoulders squaring. “Lucifer didn’t tell you, did he?”

“He said she’s really mad at his Father – at God, but from what I gather, that’s not really a distinguishing factor for anyone.”

“That’s _so_ like Lucifer, leaving me to do the dirty work,” she rolled her eyes. “But you read the stories, yeah? Well, in Lilith’s case, they’re probably all true. She does whatever is best for Lilith, no exceptions. If she wants something, she takes it. If it suits her, she does it. No whim or worry to whoever else gets in the way. She hurt a lot of people, a lot of them were children. She’s not to be trusted.”

Choe didn’t say anything immediately and Maze rocked restlessly on her heels. “Is Trixie…?” she began, but Maze shook her head.

“Na, she’s not an idiot, and I can totally take Lilith if I had to.” She grinned like a steel saw, every tooth sharp and glinting.

“Well, I don’t think it’s going to come to that. As I said, it’s just for this night, and then we’re done.” Her thoughts returned to Linda and Amenadiel, and the hand they were willing to play on behalf of their son. She couldn’t fault them, but she didn’t bring it up again.

“I’m still gonna say I told ya so,” Maze informed her stolidly, appraising the night with renewed interest. In truth, standing around, not talking about things that neither them wanted to say, that was kind of thing that made her demon sensibilities shudder. It was time to move. The pain still creased her insides when she turned, but it was better than staying shut in. Her stilettos divided the pavement with short, bright strikes. “Later, loser.”

“See you at home, Maze,” Chloe shook her head.

She was glad she’d put her jacket on; the humidity and broken, and the night had a certain zest to it, the sort of night that inspired the crowds queuing across the street. She glanced down the street to where the patrol car rested, Palmer sitting quietly within and forming a dark silhouette under the lamp light. She should get back; she was still heading this operation, even if they stuck her out here in the car. She pushed thoughts of Lilith out of her head.

Instead her focus returned to Hannah White. If what Ella described was true, there was no reason that Hannah couldn’t be a key figure in these murders; she had access to all the victims and even personal ties with the first; she demonstrated that same sort of fanaticism Derry had, according to Lucifer. She wasn’t about to condemn this woman without speaking to her, but she wasn’t going to be ruled out until then either. Now to figure out a means, and a motivation. This was the part of her job that she liked, that sense of finally drawing closer, slotting the key pieces into place, to serve justice and, even if past wrongs could not be altogether righted, seeing that no one else had to suffer them ever again.

But that would be tomorrow’s task, once they were able to speak with Hannah, and determine her side of the story. Provided she didn’t deliver herself to them here tonight; which would be particularly convenient on her part.

A car on the main street rumbled by with stereo booming, the base thrumming against her chest a pressing reminder of the world, still constant, sill surrounding her. Night was cool on her skin, the air diffusing the scent of damp pavement and greasy fries, with laughter entwined upon the breeze. It was in these scattered moments, separated from all the parts of life that nagged and needled through the clutter of the day, when she toyed with the idea of giving herself over to the moment and becoming a part of it, to surrender to it, to trust in something bigger than herself. At the same time that was scary as fuck, sending a discomforting static to prickle her skin at the thought of leaving that much to chance, to remain unguarded against the unknown. It pressed on her now, that tentative _what if_ , but practicality nudged it away. It pressed again, more urgently this time, but she shrugged it off, grounding herself. After all, the night was just the night and the universe vast and patternless. Gods existed in other realm, and sometimes those worlds bled into each other, but none of that changed _her._

Her attention shifted up the street, dotted by couples and groups heading towards the main drag, all completely normal, mundane things for normal humans still unbothered by the notion divinity, that was real, if only because they had not yet encountered it. For them, the earth was under their feet, the stars overhead, and the people they met along the street were simply human.

There was no divinity here.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

The surveillance van, parked in the loading bay under LUX, was practically bristling with divinity, which Dan, who was still blessedly unaware, was in the processes of turning out. Lucifer, who was also blissfully unaware of the effect he was having on his co-worker, swivelled lazy semi-circles in his seat (which in the narrow space meant he kept whacking the back Dan’s chair with his knees, repeatedly). He was silent, but only because he was busy licking bright orange salt from his fingers with abandonment.

“You’ve eaten them all, now please go,” Dan’s look was one of reprove, although he had long resolved himself to his fate. He kept his eyes scanning the wall of screens, wishing he’d brought a newspaper, mostly, so he could roll it into a tube and swat the fingers that kept reaching towards the buttons unbidden. Out on the floor, the crowds were filling in as expected, but so far without any persons of interest. Lilith was in place, Reyes holding at the far end of the bar which provided a good vantage and access to the floor, and the music played on.

“I still think I should have had a comm pack,” Lucifer mused, unperturbed. “Then we could have had ourselves a proper party line.”

“Everything else is a party with you, so why not?” Dan minced.

“Really?” he straightened keenly.

“No.”

“Douche.”

“Dick.”

Dan schooled his focus on the video wall, away from the thumping that had started at his back again. Anger, the most reliable coping mechanism, flared quietly, but he used the techniques he’d learned with Linda to work it through, settling the well in his stomach and forcing him to look at what was really bother him. He took a breath, expanding the air into his lungs, and when he exhaled he turned. “How long?”

Lucifer eased the rocking motion to look at him, his face a question.

“How long are you staying this time?”

“Well, I was going to see what became of that couple snogging in the corner,” he pointed at the lower screen, “but it looks like your bore-on-the-floor is mood-killing even whilst doing nothing but standing there.”

“I meant in L.A.,” he said flatly.

The motion stilled all together and he planted his feet on the floor. “Oh. Well, I can’t say exactly, it depends on a lot of things, really.”

“Is at least one of those things Chloe?”

Now his expression darkened. “It has everything to do with the Det-– with Chloe.”

“Right. Just like last time. Just taking off without a word to anyone, dropping off the face of the earth, gone. I bet you didn’t even talk to her about it before you left, did you?”

“I didn’t have any other choice.”

“You always have a choice. You just always choose what’s best for you.”

Lucifer rose to his feet, but the other man remained sitting, effectively blocking the way out unless he considered pushing the chair across the ramp and out the door (and he did; consider it, that is). “I have no expectation that you would understand the choice I made–”

“But that’s it – it’s still _your_ choice. Without her.”

“She… it was… _work!_ A matter of utmost importance. _Earth-defining,_ even. Unavoidable.”

“It was still the easy option.”

 _“Easy?!”_ Nope, he was going to roll Daniel down the ramp, across the parking lot, and into traffic; if he aimed it right, he might be able to fling the chair all the way there in one shot. But the Douche was doing something unexpected, squaring his shoulders at him and refusing to budge, even when instinct should have kicked in by now, some primal predilection towards self-preservation, or at least the sense to move out of the way of an aggravated arch angel, had he a lick of it.

“Yeah, work is easy,” he set his jaw. “You know why? Because no matter how much work can suck – and I know it does – it’s still familiar, simpler, _easier_ to deal with than everything else you have to face when you’re in another person’s life. A person who it _matters_ to have your life.”

Lucifer remained standing, oscillating between the desire to see the man in front of him ricochet through traffic on a wheely chair, and something else that cut very near to curiosity at what the Douche would say next (but not because he was explicitly interested in what he was saying, to be clear).

Dan continued, the initial fume dissipating as he went on. “It’s hard, _really_ hard. Because not only are you dealing with all _their_ issues and concerns and downright _ridiculous_ idiosyncrasies… like guest towels… _I still don’t understand the hierarchy of towels_ … but nothing brings your own shortfalls into perspective faster than having to face yourself inside that kind of a relationship. And I should know, because I screwed that up, big time, and I blamed it all on work, too. Because that was still easier than admitting all the other things I wasn’t good at facing.”

Lucifer sat quietly into his chair and very carefully tucked it up against the counter where it didn’t knock anything. “Towel hierarchy?”

“Yeah,” he sniffed. “Chloe has like, towels for everything. Bath towels. Hand towels. Accent towels. Towels that are only used on holidays. Towels that are only brought out for the _good_ company. And if you, by some grievous blunder, use the wrong towel after you shower…” he sighed, leaning back in his chair, fingers scrubbing at his scalp as if trying to nudge the memory loose. “Look, I’m hardly the guy to be giving relationship advice, but just… don’t forget what’s actually important. Work’s always going to be there. But those moments with the people in your life – they’re brief, man. And sure, they’re not always gonna be great, you’re not always going to agree about everything, but the important thing is you have that conversation in the first place. Together. And really, all Chloe wants is someone who’ll meet her half way.”

“And not use the company towels?”

“Especially not for mopping up when the kid overflows the bathtub trying out her new snorkel set.”

He scoffed. “The real issue was obviously getting the child a snorkelling set in the first place, when you should have gone for the full scuba suit and lessons in the dive pool before her graduating to solo diving out at sea. Honestly, I don’t know how you manage sometimes, Daniel.”

“Yeeeeah…” he shook his head slowly, and was relieved when his phone began to ring. “Hey Ella, I thought you were going home.”

“I tried, but some days you win some, and others you find yourself back-tracking through evidence until 3am,” she dismissed his concern. “Besides, this is a fairly interesting nugget I come baring.”

“I don’t doubt it; here, let me get you on speaker.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t reach Chloe; how mad at you guys is she?”

“Nobody was stabbed with a fork,” Lucifer assured.

“So far,” smirked Dan, flicking the channel open. “Clo, you copy?”

“I told you to take Flakies,” Ella was audibly shaking her heads at them. “Also, I’m not sure if you’ll consider this bad news or worse news, especially considering what you’re all doing right now. I mean, it’s still good if you dissuade some crazy recruiters, right, but I’m really not so sure Lilith _could_ be the killer’s intended target at this point.”

Dan frowned at the dead air, and leaned over to tap the call button on the police radio. “Palmer, is Decker still with you?” He waited, then pressed it again. “Palmer, do you copy?”

“See, I got this uncanny kind of hunch reading through those theology notes last night, so went back and ran some more tests. It turns out, Miranda Cole and Ashley Reiner had something else in common when they were killed – both were pregnant. Unfortunately, in Meila’s case we don’t have samples to go back to, so unless we get the people around her to talk, and those are going to be some uncomfortable questions for the family–”

“Dispatch, will you page car #1785 for me,” he kept his voice trim, although a clamminess had begun working down his spine as he listened to the calls play out over empty space. He turned to Lucifer, who had completely stilled, his face tensing. “Your phone,” he told him, “call Maze,” then snatched it himself when it began to ring.

“I’m _NOT_ apologizing–” Maze sniped.

“It's Dan - do you still have eyes on Chloe?”

“Give me 30 seconds,” the call ended.

The silence was broken by the crackle of the radio. “No response, Espinoza; shall I send a unit over to check?”

“We’re on it, stand by,” they were on their feet before the transmission ended. Lucifer drove past, nearly sending him back into his seat, but once there he retained the presence of mind to snatch both phones, sprinting down the ramp and through the loading bay in a scramble to match the other’s long strides. Maze’s face flashed on the screen and he hit speaker, “Maze!”

“She’s _gone,”_ her voice was venom. “Palmer’s down. He’s not breathing. _Dammit,_ you fragile humans! I’m going after her.”

 _“Wait,”_ but the line cut out again, and he crashed headlong into Lucifer who’d become fixed like a stone pillar in his tracks and without so much as flinching from the impact. When he moved, it it was wordlessly, altering course and returning the club.

“Oh no,” Ella squeaked very quietly over the speaker, and he’d completely forgotten she was still there.

“Ella,” he darted through the still-swinging doors, pushed passed servers and navigated the kitchen before coming out into the club proper. The music nearly drowned them both.

“What if…” she started, haltingly. “What if it’s always been–”

He didn’t catch her words as he scanned the floor – lights strobing, bodies, dancing, a thick sea of chaos – but Lucifer was an easy mark to make, slicing through crowds that seemed to part for him on instinct. He guessed his intent before he spotted her, dress unfurling like a red lily in a nighttime garden.

“Hang on!” he shouted, whether for Ella or Lucifer he wasn’t sure, and dove into the crowd.

Lucifer descended on the booth like a storm head, the table skidding sideways and away. “What have you _done,_ Lilith?” his voice broke upon the ground like thunder

She evading his grasp easily enough, stepping lightly over the edge of the seat to stand above him. “What have _I_ done?” her lips curled. “Whatever are you accusing me of now?”

His eyes matched her dress, charged with a thinly contained rage. _“What have you done with the Detective?!”_

She regarded him, her expression unsettled as she studied his face, the look not unfamiliar, not even unexpected, but it struck at something just the same. Lilith met the gaze unflinching, turning only as Dan and Reyes appeared through the crowd to draw alongside, tension bleeding from their readied stances and troubled eyes. She considered them all, doggedly surrounding her, and it all seemed so common-place, so predisposed, and all at once so very, very far away…

She smiled. “Oh. _I_ see. Something has gone amiss, and so the fault must be mine, is that it? Another century, and decry, _‘this pox upon us bares Lilith’s mark, she is the reason for our suffering’,_ it’s the same, over and over and _over_ again! And yes, I know – I have never been an angel, but, even those fall, do they not?”

The sound Lucifer made as he advanced was a growl, rumbling low and barely audible and sent the hairs on Dan’s neck rising. Still he responded, reaching out to grab hold of the man’s arm. “Hold up, ” he was nearly thrown over his feet by the forward momentum, Lucifer shrugging off his grasp like a horse dislodging a fly. “Lucifer wait, we don’t know what’s happened–”

“Only because you don’t know _Lilith–”_

“But see– the killer was never going to go after Lilith,” Ella’s voice sounded hollow over the line. “That’s not what they were after. All those crazy rituals and shit… I should have pieced it together sooner. And it’s so _totally_ messed up. And if it’s true, they went after them because they _were_ pregnant… and then… Chloe…”

Lucifer stilled, as if the name itself held power over him, his eyes seeking the phone first with confusion before returning to Dan. “What about the Detective?”

The man’s face was ashen, as if he’d gazed into Hell and had been marked by it, his eyes dull and stricken.

Lilith’s hand had curled over her mouth, concealing whatever expression had immediately arisen. Her eyes were bright, far too bright under the artificial lights, and she blinked them back, her face neutralizing before the grin could slide back and into place. She turned to Lucifer, “You still don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” his own voice sounded strange to him, fading in and out like tuned static. He tried to calm the riot of his thoughts, pieces that began to slot into place, little fragments that on their own meant nothing, but came together to form a whole. A sensation began to creep, looming in the proximity of his stomach, first expanding and then drawing back into himself in sharp waves of disorienting

He turned to others, a caged expression settling in his eyes as he shuffled a step backwards, his shoes scuffing as if they refused to lose contact with the floor. His heart was pounding loudly in his ears, against his chest, or maybe that was the music, which was odd, because he couldn’t hear it any more but didn’t remember signalling for it to be turned off. Stranger still, outside of their little semicircle the people were still dancing without any sound. How queer. And now the others were staring at him. Why were they staring at him? He tried to remember what it meant. It was something important. Something about Chloe. Yes, that was it. But it didn’t make any sense. He didn’t want it to. It shuddered in his chest. That couldn’t be right. It couldn’t. He had to remember.

He remembered to breathe. The room fell back into place with all its bright, chaotic harmony. “Will someone tell me _what_ the actual _fuck_ is going on?”

Lilith grinned a Cheshire Cat grin, as she had in the garden when dreams were new and sweet and full of hope, before anything yet in the world had been broken.

Before stories were inked and rebellions lost, before branches twined and stars crossed, before God divided the realms and cut Life and Death asunder, and hers had had a different ending. And yet, here it was. She looked upon the Angel and wondered then how any of them had ever had a hope in Hell.

She smiled, her grin a knife across her face. “Congratulations; you’re going to be a dad, _you idiot.”_

And Lucifer remembered what it was like to stand upon the edge of the universe and see it come to Light for the first time, and though the ground remained still, he recognized the feeling, for it was familiar, overwhelming, and acute.

He was falling.

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

In the centre of the Garden the Tree shuddered, a portentous rumbling that humbled the earth and sent the air snapping as it rushed to fill the empty space. The leaves shuddered, the trunk gasped with a terrible yawning sound, the tremors disseminating down through tenebrous roots to spread ripples over the well of the world.

When all was still again, a deep crack split the tree from root to crown. The realms shuddered, the weeping scar struck down the centre column between them all.

It had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >.>  
> <.<  
> I did say Lilith wasn’t the Big Bad; I didn’t say she wasn’t also a little sociopath >.>
> 
> (so chunks of her story was lifted from this chapter for the sake of brevity, and now I gotta figure out how to weave everything back together into the next one... not that I think _anyone_ is really concerned about Lilith right now!)


	13. The Blindside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point I'm just going to own that long chapters are our norm. With more swearing.

“Reverend Father, I have sinned.”

“What is the nature of this sin?”

The silence was thick and palpable and strung around him like a wreath, a noose, a thorny crown to bleed thin tears across his vision. “The tenets of our faith, I have… broken them.”

“Even the Christ was tempted; it is the lot of man that we walk one hand with God while the Devil is ever nipping at our heels.” The Reverend looked up from the envelope he was holding, the letter opener slicing through with a swift, slick motion. “The nature of this sin, how did it come to pass?”

_She lay with flowers in her hair, her eyes staring endlessly, upwards, towards the heavens where she would never be._

“I just… wanted to be sure. So I tempted Faith. I did what God would never do. And so God punished me.”

 _Shhhrick_ went the cutter through another envelope, efficiently parting it in two. “I see. It was a terrible circumstance you found yourself in. As these are terrible times. There are many that walk among us and offer us one hand or the other; we choose between them daily. And some days it’s not which is the right choice and which is wrong, but which is the lesser of two evils.”

 _Shhhrick_ went the blade, sharp and quick.

_Death at least had been quick and kind, as if sympathetic to her damnation._

“It happened–”

“Many things happen. And while it does not absolve us of the fact, _why_ we were set in motion in the first place matters greatly.” He reached for another pile of letters, and the slicing began again. “What were your intentions?”

_“Why?” there was screaming now, screaming at him. He didn’t answer, he didn’t need to. They knew. Every last one of them knew._

“Only the Lord’s work, Reverend. I swear.”

The Reverend smiled. “You have no need to swear to me, if you’ve already sworn to Him,” he put the letter opener down. “You have been given a gift, that you have the means and opportunity to do the Lord’s work, as they say, _‘for because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted.’_ That is why you are good at what you do. And why we have such important work to do here.”

_“...a child of ill-begotten seed, and from its mortal host be torn, and so begins the breaking of the world, the end of days upon us…”_

He bowed his head. _“Yes, Father; yes I do.”_

The traffic lights changed, drawing him back to himself and settling around him like night, which had fallen now with practiced efficiency, much as they had. He gazed at the man seated beside him as he turned the wheel right, but the face was stone, pale and motionless. First time jitters. Truth be told, he’d have rather had Hannah, but… well, that couldn’t be. He hoped the man wasn’t about to break. In the back, he heard muffled voices, and his ears pricked, curious to their conversation. “What’s happening back there?”

“She keeps stirring,” was the response.

“Dose her again.”

“I already have. Maybe it’s a bad batch.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “Keep on her; we’re almost there.”

“We keep dosing her like this, we might kill her.”

“Kinda the point,” said the man riding shotgun.

He turned on him, eyes narrowing. “We don’t kill anyone. We are humbled servants, it’s God’s Will whether any of us lives or dies. Do you think _you_ could stand in the path of the Lord and defy _His_ Will?”

 _“Nn-nno,_ absolutely not,” his head shook rapidly.

“None can,” Derry intoned coldly, meeting the eyes of his crew in turn before returning them forwards. “Not even Satan himself.” He settled again as the traffic opened up in front of them, the road clear and vanishing into the dark horizon.

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

_“You still don’t know, do you?”_

_“Know what?”_

It had hit him in the chest, the weight of that realization squeezing all the air from his lungs with one fell swoop. Pieces slotted into place, and as much as he tried to rearrange them they settled in his stomach like lead.

_The Detective was with child._

It cut a plume of grief loose in his chest. He had been gone a long time. He had left her with every indication he was never coming back. He had sat in Hell, a fixed point beneath the swirling, starless skies and willed the universe that if he could have one ask of it, was that she would be fine, she would move on, forget him, and find the kind of happiness not meant for people like him. _Monsters_ like him, who knew nothing more than how to destroy everything around him, to wreck havoc on the lives every person he’d ever met.

She’d moved on. She’d met someone. Maybe even fallen in love.

It hurt to breath, when it shouldn’t have had any right to, because this was what he’d wished.

And then, what had he done? Stormed back into her life, because when it came down to it he was selfish and brazen and gave little notice to anything else except the point of his fixation, whatever it was, no matter how ridiculous and misguided it was (Dr. Linda’s face flared to mind now testified to that). And maybe the Detective was immune to his charms, but he held something over her that was far more devastating: _she had loved him._ Why had she gone and done such a stupid thing like that? He’d given her nothing but frustration and she’d given him her heart, and what had he done with it? Broken it when he’d left her, then used it lure her back to him when he’d returned, because he’d wanted those selfish moments with her just once more, _to Hell_ with anyone else’s feelings, least of all hers. The ache that hit against his rib cage then nearly had him clutching his chest, until something else flared in its place.

Because something here wasn’t right.

If there was someone else in the Detective’s life, then where was he? He should be here. Why wasn’t he here? Had he abandoned her? Oh, if that bastard had abandoned her, there wasn’t a loop in Hell fit for the treacheries he’d plan, he would see the next thousand years were spent reliving the heinousness of that betrayal…

… of his _own_ betrayal. Because none of this would have happened if he’d been here. This was on him. This was definitely on him. This was…

… this wasn’t adding up either.

He was missing something here and it had begun to clatter through his thoughts, stuttering like a bow raked across its strings in brute disharmony. He was hyper aware of his heart beating and wondered if everyone else could hear how loud it was since it had drowned away every other sound in the room. They were all staring at him too, because he was missing something. It was important, but his mind had skittered away from it, a wound resisting examination for no other reason than not wanting to know just how bad it was.

Except that it was something about Chloe and it was it was very important that he know.

He stilled the cacophony of his mind and brought everything around him to a screeching halt.

_"Will someone tell me what the actual fuck is going on?”_

_Please._

The Devil doesn’t beg.

He didn’t know what he was asking for.

The silence stretched to fill spaces he didn’t dare to look.

_“Congratulations; you’re going to be a dad, you idiot.”_

Oh.

Everything stilled.

Stillness seemed to buoy him as much as it swallowed him.

It felt strangely familiar and out-of-place, surrounded again by that adiaphorous calm that lay over creation as he’d felt the stars on his face for the first time, watching light stream and ignite the universe with warmth and colour, brightly beaming back at him where nothing of the sort had ever before existed. The moment in his mind was crystalline.

Wait.

This was about Chloe.

_Chloe._

The word, her name, held everything for him.

And she hadn’t fallen for anyone else. There hadn’t been anyone else. She still cared for him, she wanted him here, and the pregnancy was his.

...wait.

Wait.

_WAIT._

The calm was dissipating quickly into a another familiar feeling, but this one was threatening to take him under, a new wave of panic that tried to establish order since his other sensibilities had taken leave.

Because Chloe.

Chloe was pregnant.

With his.

_His._

Oh.

“Bollocks.”

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

Miranda Cole had been an inevitable outcome. Hannah had alerted him, her eyes still dark and defiant, wrestling the demons of her own doing. She turned to him with a challenge, _daring_ him even, her chin cutting a sharp line and she demanded to know what he’d do.

Another test, another temptation, wrapped around the weltering shard of truth.

Yet, he could deny no one. There was simply too much at stake.

It had come together so easily, so gently, as if God himself guided his hand and placed the pieces into arrangement, steering his actions until the final stroke was done.

But had it been enough?

Had he triumphed over evil?

How could he have been so high-handed as even think such a thing… for Satan was unfathomably quick and keen, and any who dared think they had the best of him were quickly humbled.

That’s when _she_ arrived.

He knew _of_ her, though they had never met; the Reverend had made sure the authorities never looked his way. He knew her by reputation, her actions, the distress she had brought down on them since that day.

She claimed to be the law, yet walked hand in hand with one who so blasphemously called himself the Devil, such was the arrogance of mortal men. It showed how simply corrupted were the laws of man, the wills of the law-abiding twisted as easily as the necks of doves, God’s messengers, twisted and dying at his feet.

Yet, he let her be, because his work was far too important; God’s work stopped for no one.

And despite all he did, all he sacrificed, the driving passion in his mind had not ceased. The signs of death were all around him, taunting him, warning him of the end to come.

He’d put her out of his mind, then, and let God lead him to his next mark.

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

Dan flinched, turning to Lilith with mouth agape, but if Lilith felt anything apart from sardonic glee, he didn’t see it. She did remind him a lot of Maze just now; just one great, big dysfunctional family. Right. He turned back to Lucifer. “Hey – you alright there?”

He clearly didn’t hear him, ghosts of expression eclipsing his face like ever-changing phases of the moon.

Dan remembered then he still had his phone in hand and put it to his ear. “Ella, get an ambulance to Palmer’s location; call this in, we need back-up.” He ended the call before she answered and stuck it in his jacket pocket with the other.

“Bollocks,” came the word, very very quietly.

Well, that was good a sign. “It’s okay, we’re going to find them.”

“Find who?”

And that was less good. “Lucifer, look at me.”

He did. Or he tried. He turned, his feet skidding, his whole frame sinking into the motion.

 _Shit._ Dan seized his arm and anchored him in place until his body realized there was a problem and got his balance under him again. His eyes were wild-stricken, catching on faces in the crowd as if he were searching for something, and when they lit on his the gulf of uncertainty that welled there gutted him. He cursed again.

“Reyes, take Lilith to a secure location; Lucifer, let’s go,” he gave the sleeve a tentative tug, which he responded to by mutely following.

The nearest port of sanctuary was the Green Room, just off the corridor beneath the stairs. He shooed out the troupe of dancers with a lot of apologetic gesturing, bracing against the door frame as they darted by in a pale cloud of costumed wings and scarlet horns.

“Why did you go and shoosh them all away?” Lucifer whined after them as the door shut. He’d nearly been turned around in the rush, save for Dan’s hand firm on his back. “They looked nice! Betcha _they_ could have made a right heavenly night of things if you’d given them the chance… Cheeky though – I don’t actually have any horns. Most people get that wrong about the Devil.”

“Why don’t you have a seat?” Dan suggested

“Couldn’t possibly Daniel; a devil’s work is never done as they say, but you know they get that part wrong too? Because the Devil’s work is _all_ play, _all_ the time! It’s what I do. And it’s _marvellous,_ and I’m bloody good at it! Because _I_ define who I am, I forge my own path, no matter what Dear ol’ Dad or anyone else has to say about it! _Are we clear?”_

“Fine, don’t have a seat.”

“Besides of which I have a reputation to uphold. _Millennia_ of it. A history that spans ages, of everything I am and have ever been…from Heaven to Hell and everywhere in between… And if you think that can all change… well, it _can’t!_ It doesn’t bloody well work like that… And I can’t… I can’t breathe. Well that’s new. Why can’t I breathe? I think I might have that seat after all.”

Lucifer sat.

He missed the chair, collapsing into a gangly heap of tangled limbs against the wall.

Satisfied that he had nowhere else to go, Dan turned to the small kitchenette and found a glass, opening the tap. “Put your head between your knees, I’ll get you a drink.”

“Instructions like those usually imply something much more fun is about to happen,” was the muffled reply, because evidently his breathing wasn’t so bad as to interfere with his ability to speak, and he added, “top cupboard, on the right.”

Dan peered inside and found a selection of alcohol and other less legal amenities that must be reserved for the performers. Because of course they did. But he turned off the tap and took the whisky, striding back to the man with a generous pour. “Here,” he plunked down beside him.

Lucifer reached out and took the bottle, twisting it effortlessly from his grasp.

“Hey–” Dan protested, but the man shushed him with a finger until he’d downed the whole thing. “Dude, you know alcohol poisoning is real, right?

“Pffft,” he thunked the empty onto the floor.

“Okay.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he rallied his thoughts. “Look, what you’re feeling right now is completely normal,” he ignored whatever was being mumbled at him under his breath. “Heck, when I first found out about Trixie–”

“I thought the Detective said your offspring was planned!”

“Yeah; well, as planned as something is when you don’t actually do much to prevent it.”

“Well that’s just you being irre–” and Lucifer put his head back between his knees with a groan.

“If you’re about to be sick, at least give me some kind of sign,” he backed up a few inches, just in case.

Lucifer raised another finger at him.

He shook his head in exasperation. “Okay, you – stay here. I’m checking in with the station, they should be here any minute,” he was back on his feet, setting the glass on the table and reached for his phone again, but when it was in his hand he was at a loss at who he meant to call.

His last message had been from Trixie, a string of emojis involving cake, a bathtub, a dog and a devil face, which he had little clue what they meant but they still squeezed his chest.

The one before that had been Chloe, one of her check-ins, which he’d resented at the time, until he remembered why she’d been with the car in the first place. _To keep her safe._ Well, that had backfired spectacularly. Because now he didn’t have any idea where she was, except that it was the very opposite of safe. _You had one job...._

He stopped himself from entering that dark tunnel because this wasn’t the time for it, and time was what mattered most now. Chloe was missing, a serial killer had outplayed them, and as much as he hated to admit it, the best chance any of them had was currently heaped in a stuttering pile on the floor.

“Shit,” he said again to no one in particular.

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

Ashley Reiner had been a surprise, sweetly packaged and delivered to him like the olive leaf after a storm. It hadn’t been what he’d set out to do that morning, but God certainly worked in mysterious ways.

Hannah was nowhere to be seen. It had bothered him, at first, but he understood it to be one of the consequences of one who walked with the Lord, that inevitably that path weeded out the chaff and riff-raff, but he would deal with that later.

Later still, as he drove the nail through bleeding flesh, he wondered, how it had come to pass that he should be the one to wield God’s hammer, why God had chosen him, why God wanted _him_ to be this eater of sins, this vessel to carry out the work of saints in sinners’ bodies.

Why had God done this to him?

What more would God ask him to do?

He shivered, and begged for a sign, trying to rid the fear from his heart, so that he might be a vessel worthy of His grace when it finally arrived.

Instead – _she_ came to him again, the very next day.

Claiming the law with her badge but with Satan on her lips – first in his office when she reprimanded him (him! for God’s work, no less!) and then again beneath the eyes of God and his window in a lewd and alluring temptation. _She will undo all of this,_ a voice from within himself urged fervently, building upon the echo until they reverberated through his already trembling body into uncontrollable shaking. He had never experienced divine rapture before and wondered if this was how it felt.

And then – _then,_ he’d seen her. Outside that den of sin, with all the world looking the other way.

He’d hesitated, even then.

But as they say, the Lord works in mysterious ways.

It hadn’t gone smoothly, but they had succeeded nonetheless.

Now she lay before him, silent and still, the only sign of life the shallow rise and falling of her chest. His mouth curled into a raw expression, one even he doubted even the Lord wanted. He remembered the Reverend's words, and they quieted his thoughts. He was not doing this for himself. He was doing it for all of mankind. For the bright and glorious future of the world, free from sin, from corruptions, from entanglement, that the Devil’s mark be removed from all of it, one tragic piece at a time.

“We really going to do this in here?” came the voice behind him.

He turned to the other man, and shrugged, neutrally, burying that wisp of uncertainly with all the confidence his position mustered. “I know it’s not ideal, but, I have Faith.”

“Alright then; I’m gonna catch some shut-eye, we’ll get up again around midnight, start the prep for the ceremony. You and Jake keeping watch?”

He nodded. “He’ll be here shortly.” He knew he should rest too, so much depended on everything going as planned, that he uphold the plan. He shuddered softly.

“You okay?”

“Fine, Kyle. Just… tired. I’ll rest as soon as Jake gets here. ”

The other nodded, turned, and his footsteps followed him down the harshly lit hall.

Derry returned his gaze to the glass, and woman behind. He leaned his head forward, pressed cold against the smooth surface. _Lord,_ he prayed. _A sign. Give me a sign that this is your will._ But the only sound, inside and out, was the buzz of light fixtures, long tubes of sickly yellow and green-tinted light.

Perhaps he should tell the others the truth.

That there would be no ceremony with this one, only the quick, slick relief of death.

At the sound of a door opening he turned, Jake shuffling past the long row of lockers with a book in hand, giving a quick nod as be sunk into the waiting chair. “Midnight?” he asked.

“I’ll be back before then,” Derry exhaled slowly, drawing himself away from the door. Somewhere down the hall a light guttered, creating a patch of grey along the stream of light. “Watch this one; we got a bad batch from the dealer and she’s shaken the meds off twice. Brook just dosed her again.”

Jake nodded, opening his book to the tasselled marker, and began to read.

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

His phone buzzed, he answered briskly. “What’s up, Reyes?”

“Lilith’s gone!”

Dan skidded to a halt in his tracks. He was halfway between the stairs and the elevator, a prime location as the club emptied, and had several people complaining behind his back. _“What?”_ He cut through the crowd and towards the railing. “What do you mean? How is that possible? Reyes, you had one job–”

All the possibilities were racing through his head – they had missed something else; there were more recruiters in the building and they’d been after Lilith all along; Maze, frustrated, having no luck with the kidnappers had returned to finish her mother off instead (because somehow that also seemed a reasonable possibility) – as he searched the dwindling crowds below vainly for a flash of red.

“She hit me on the head with a frying pan!” Reyes sounded as surprised as he did. “Then she gave me the slip; who actually _does_ that?! _We’re_ supposed to be protecting _her–”_

Dan scrubbed at his face his free hand. “Okay… maybe she just had to… use the bathroom,” he said doubtfully. “Grab some guys and to a check of the grounds, but if nothing turns up in the next 10 minutes, get an APB out.” Reyes mumbled the affirmative and he hung up the phone.

He gave the floor final once-over, expecting nothing and finding what he expected. More uniforms were moving through the space, heading down the stairs and they nodded at him on the decent. Dan did nothing in return.

Palmer had been taken to hospital with failing vitals. The drug he’d been dosed with had paralyzed his muscles including his lungs, though a Good Samaritan had attempted CPR until the ambulance arrived. It wasn’t looking good.

He tried not to think about what they might have done to Chloe.

He glanced at his phone again. He had to tell something to Mrs. Rodriguez; at the very least, he’d promised to give her a heads up if this went past midnight. It was nearly eleven already. _Chloe had been missing for two hours._ For now, he shoved the phone back into his pocket, taking up his original direction towards the elevator.

He’d lost track of Lucifer about a half hour ago in the proceeding blur – he’d checked the room again and found him gone. One of the dancers had pointed upstairs. He’d sworn a few more times under his breath and once more for good measure as he stepped inside the lift and pressed the button.

Well, maybe this was good. Maybe Lucifer had pulled himself back together and was ready to put his focus towards the crisis at hand.

Maybe the Easter Bunny would show up for Christmas dinner, too.

The doors opened on the unusually untidy penthouse. “Lucifer?” he called tentatively.

The bar was lined with an assortment of bottles, most of them empty. There were still books and stacks of curling yellow manuscripts loitering on the piano, and the seating area was a cluttered mess.

Which is probably why Lucifer had opted for the floor.

“Shit,” said Dan.

He sent a fallen bottle clattering as he crossed over to the pair of legs protruding from beneath the elegant Steinway. “… do I have to get the paramedics up here and have your stomach pumped?”

“That would be... v’ry unpleasant... for the both of us, I ssssure…” was the response.

“Alright, give me the bottle.”

“S’not yours.”

“Do not make me climb under that piano.”

The empty came skidding across the floor and thunked against his shoe.

Dan rubbed his brow again, and released a breath. Then he dropped down to the floor and pressed his back against the tiles, scooching himself across the sleek, ebony surface. “Okay. What’s going on in that crazy head of yours, right now.”

He was on his back, rumpled and haggard, arms clutching another bottle to his chest like it were a revered artifact being guarded by an Egyptian mummy. His eyes were blank and staring upward. “I don’t understand how this happened.”

“Yeah, I’m not explaining that one to you.”

“But I can’t. _I can’t,”_ he gestured, the bottle coming loose and he clamped the arm back down again before it got away entirely; bad enough the buzz was already starting to wan, leaving him privy to the torrent of his thoughts. “And I can’t… be… _that..._ I… don’t know how…”

His first response was reflexive, coloured with a residual resentment Dan found he didn’t even really harbour any more. Instead he sighed. “Nobody does. You just kinda… make sense out of it as you go along.”

“Well that’s a terrible approach! No _wonder_ the whole lot of you are so thoroughly messed up!”

“And you’re one to talk.”

He huffed a short, dry laugh that didn’t fool anyone. His voice was low, heavy with a profound and brittle sadness. “I know I am. That’s… why I’m going to make such a bloody wreck of things.”

Dan let the silence settle before he spoke again. “Do you remember your first car?”

Lucifer glanced at him sidelong, not following, but then he smiled feebly in spite of himself. “Oh yes… Rolls-Royce Phantom coupe; did it _ever_ make the 20’s roar…”

"Uh-huh…” he just shook his head, but pressed forward anyway. “Well, your first kid, is a lot like your first car: you love it, you can't believe it's yours, and you swear you'll take the best care of it ever. And, just like your first car… you're going to put some dents into it."

“I will have you know I never so much as scratched– Oh. I see.”

Dan nodded. “You’ll figure it out. And you won’t be going it alone.”

His expression changed again, this time drawing tight. “Any word from Maze?”

“Not yet. Nothing from our guys either, though they’re pulling traffic came footage from all the surrounding area. We’ll get them.”

It roiled just beneath the surface, an ocean in constant flux and swell, rolling hot, angry waves that smashed against the barriers of Hell. The wrath had been a part of him so long, he wondered now and then if there had ever been a time he was without, and he wondered what eons of burning its mark into his soul had done. Sometimes, he wished he could let it all go, but didn’t want for that tonight. Now it warmed him, an familiar itch that presaged of deeds to come.

He made another expression, his teeth unmasked beneath his lips. “Oh, we certainly will…”

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

Awareness returned in cool, lapping waves, sluicing over her muzzy consciousness.

At first, she scrunched her eyes tight, wanting nothing more than to sink back into that warm envelop of darkness, away from this reality where everything hurt, everything felt wrong. Sharps points of concern flooded her scrambled senses. There were voices – dry, hollow voices that whispered mangled words against her ebbing wakefulness – but they could have been the remnants of half-remembered dreams; she was not cognizant enough to tell.

Urgency spiked; she struggled against the lethargy that drugged her muscles, moving instinctively when the nausea crested. She rolled forward, braced until her stomach emptied, and when it was done she rested on hands and knees until the room fell into focus around her.

Four white walls, the smell of mildew. Cold. Fluorescent tubes buzzed over head.

Chloe eased back with her arms into a seated position. Her hands were bound with zip ties cut close against her wrists, finding no relief the more she twisted. Panic wanted to surge, but she forced it down.

 _Think, Decker,_ her head told her. _Don’t panic. You’ve got this._

She looked around the room. Her body protested the movement. The door clicked, and she turned at the sound, pulling her legs against herself.

“You’re awake,” came the voice. “That’s not right.”

The man from the street. The one who’d held on while a woman drove the syringe into her neck. They’d asked her for directions. She could still smell his aftershave on the collar of her jacket and the scent made her sick.

_Focus. Focus on what you know._

Male, late twenties, early thirties. She took the information into herself, to pull it up later, when she was found. If she was found. Kidnappings happened for one of two reasons, both of which came down to desire: _they wanted._ Either they wanted her dead, or they wanted something from her – money, fame, notoriety, but usually money. _‘You humans, you love your money, don’t you?’_ Lucifer had said when they’d first met, so smooth and smug she’d wanted to punch him in the face. A lot of the time she still did, even after she’d found out he was the Devil. That had been their first case.

_Focus, Decker, so this doesn’t end up being your last._

Unless this really _was_ a branch of the doomsday cult, which had now escalated to snatching people off public streets, in which case crucifixion wasn’t off the table. It was almost ironic. A puff of laughter escaped her lips, and she wiped her mouth against her sleeve, tasting rust. Maybe she’d bit herself. “What do you want from me?” she asked quietly.

“Nothing from you,” he said. “Try not to think about it. It’s for the best.”

Her stomach lurched again. She swallowed it down. “Best,” she breathed. “For who?”

The man shrugged. “Everyone.”

He was standing at the door, quietly piercing the vial’s membrane and pulling back on the syringe in a practiced motion. Time ticked as he tapped the bubbles to the surface and expelled them. When he started towards her, his pace was unhurried. She flexed her wrists, but the binding held tight.

“You won’t feel a thing,” he promised.

His fingers slipped down her neck, brushing the hairs erect as he leaned over.

She drove upwards, catching him with her bound wrists against the side of his face. The needle went clattering, his exclamation of surprise bolstering her. Her head was still swimming but she pushed past it, bringing her wrists down against his collar bone as he tumbled back. She got her feet underneath her, stumbling into the wall for leverage to straighten against.

The man steadied himself, spitting out blood. “Bitch.”

She swallowed her breath. “If that’s the worst you’ve got, you might as well let me walk out of here, right now.” Her chest heaved, and she had no idea how long they stood facing each other until there was noise from the hallway, a familiar voice nudging back into her awareness.

“What’s going on?” Derry entered, gaze swinging quickly from one to the other, his expression unsettled.

“I went to dose her again. Bitch hit me,” Jake sniffed. “Broke the fucking syringe.”

The answer seemed to satisfy him, and he nodded. “Go calm yourself. Bring Brook back with you, and we’ll finish this off.” Jake left without a word, and his gaze settled on Chloe. His expression was unreadable. “So, here we are again.”

She still needed the wall, but her breathing had slowed. She held her bound wrists ready at her chest. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because God asked.”

“God asked you to kill all those women?” she shook her head. “Come again; I have it on pretty good authority that He really doesn’t talk to anyone.”

He snorted it, taking a few steps but in no particular direction. “Someone like you would never understand. You mock me, but, I’m not just doing this for the believers and righteous; I’m saving all you heathens and sinners too. You might as well pretend to be a little grateful.”

She gave him a scathing look.

The return was almost a smile. “I’d expect nothing less. But you’re not so tough without your badge and gun; not that it matters, man’s law shall not supersede God’s Law, so–”

“What about _‘thou shalt not kill’?_ That’s a pretty basic one of God’s.”

“We’re at war,” his voice turned dark. “This is a Holy War; there will _always_ be casualties. Do you think I _like_ being His executioner? Do you think I _wanted_ this? Having to brush against sinners to expunge the sin, here with someone like _you,_ judging _me…”_

She shivered, the cinder block wall against her back leaching the warmth from her skin. “This is about Judgment Day, isn’t it?”

“Yes!” he crowed. “Yes, because the weight of sins has tipped the balance of the world and now we’re all plunging towards the precipice… and you have the _gall_ to ask me _why I’m doing this?!”_

She didn’t flinch, through he’d drawn nearer, and when she spoke, it was with empathy. “Derry, you might not believe me, but I also know what it’s like to be looking over that edge and seeing only doom and uncertainty. And having this feeling, that you would do _whatever it takes_ to make the world make sense again. It eats you up inside, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t speak to me like that. ' _The Lord knoweth how to deliver the godly out of temptations, and to reserve the unrighteous unto the day of judgment to be punished–”_

“But the thing is, none of us _really_ know anything for certain. We’re all just doing our best. I know you’re trying. But hurting other people isn’t the answer here. You’ve _got_ to know that,” she said carefully. “And just like you didn’t choose to have this put on you, those women didn’t choose what happened to them. But you _do_ have the choice to end this now. ”

“I didn’t choose them either,” he simply shrugged. “Each one of them chose their fate when they chose to engage in those sinful acts, using their bodies not as a temple of God... but a vessel for the Devil’s spawn.”

Cold spread down her back that had nothing to do with temperature. “Ashley was pregnant,” she said softly. “Miranda… is that why Mark Davis tried to shoot up the place? Because you killed his–”

“It wasn’t _his,”_ Derry shook his head vehemently. “You see that now, don’t you? Because Satan works through all those who let down their vigilance, corrupting your mind, your thoughts, and then your body through the temptation of the flesh; _that he might leave his mark upon you, the insignia of the beast, and in your belly his seed grows, to spill fear and carnage into the world, unto all of us, in these – the ending of days…”_

She looked at him, eyes widening with the horror of his words as they settled with clear, visceral intent. Her hands dropped in front of her abdomen, instinctively.

He watched her, and a new realization suddenly dawned in him, his face paling even further under the harsh fluorescent lighting. The trembling began in his hands again, moving upwards. “Oh God. You’re pregnant. And… it’s _his,_ isn’t it?”

His head was reeling, points of reflection coming together with sudden acuity. He felt his balance shudder, but knew God would give him strength, He always had. For God had led him to _her,_ though he hadn’t understood what He’d wanted at the time. And he’d almost failed, put off by the overtness of it, the reckless disregard for sanctum and the crazy metaphors, but then, the Devil was cunning while he - he was just a man; the Reverend had counselled him so. And he’d been distracted by the corruption of his own feelings – he’d wanted to kill her outright, to remove this thorn in his side, his own frustration and rancour nearly getting the better of him. But as it came to pass, God had guided his hand once again; even when he thought he’d faltered, when he felt he’d run astray, God had shown him the way.

She was what God had chosen _him_ for all along.

He would restore balance and tip the Scales of Judgment back into equilibrium.

He would prevent the End of Days, that man might share in God’s Grace a good while longer.

And he would slay the Spawn of Sin, before evil could be released on the world.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor and shortly they arrived, his disciples, awaiting his instructions and smiled at them – a bright, true smile, for everything was coming into place. “She needs another dose,” he said. “Be careful though; she not as innocent as she looks. I will begin preparations for the ceremony.”

They nodded, and he left them to it, the sounds of her struggle fading as he traversed the corridor, following the way of the righteous.

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

Dan snatched the phone from the counter as it began to vibrate. “Maze,” he clicked it onto speaker.

“Where’s Lucifer?”

He glanced across the room at the puddle of man still sprawled mostly underneath the piano. “Uh, he’s drunk.”

There was a pause. “...what happened?”

“He… knows.”

The laughter was graceless and unrestrained. “Maze,” he admonished.

“Oh, I _so_ called it, the big drama queen–”

“Did bloody _everyone_ know except me?” Lucifer conjectured, rolling onto his side after the bottle that skittering away in a half-hearted attempt to catch it.

“You’ve been back like, a day,” Dan shook his head, but Maze cut them off.

“Look, if any of you dorks are actually interested, I found them.”

The air in the room stilled.

“Exactly where are you,” Dan snatched a pen, scribbling down the directions as she spoke.

“Looks like an old rec centre; there’s a couple cars in the parking lot and it’s awful late to be making use of a gym membership. But I don’t think there’s many of them inside, and I’m totally down for going all Rabbit Season on some gym bunnies. So, don’t know if Lucifer plans to show up and rescue his baby-mama like one of those gag-worthy Hallmark moments, or should I just do this myself–”

“Wait for back up,” he told her. “You don’t know what you’re walking into. I’ll get Lucifer sobered up and be right over–”

There was a rush of air that sent the papers on the piano scattering in a flush of unfurling pages. Dan batted them as he turned. “Lucifer?” but the floor was empty. “Where–” he swirled again, sending the last of the papers fluttering “ –the fuck?”

He was nowhere to be seen. There was no way he’d made it past him, and there wasn’t anywhere else in the penthouse he could have gotten to. Except maybe the back service elevator…? _Goddammit_. He grabbed the phone.

“Maze–” but the call had ended. _Of course it had._

Dan rushed towards the elevator.

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

Ella turned the key, hearing the lock click and the door release, but for the moment she stood motionless, the weight of the world settled on her shoulders and the effort to take another step just too much.

Lieutenant Ryce had returned to the station once the facts had been sorted and it was determined that an LAPD officer had been abducted on duty; surveillance footage from a street shop had revealed the scene in grainy black and white. Two suspects, a male and a female, had approached Detective Decker. They’d stood and talked, minutes ticking by in silent agony, the stream flickering in and out of resolution. There was one instant, just before it happened, when Ella realized Chloe _knew,_ for her stance tightened and hand slid towards her hip. But that’s when they reached forward, the man braced and dropped her, the woman leaning in, a flash of something that was probably a syringe and plunged it against her clavicle.

If it had been succinylcholine… Palmer was unlikely to make it through the night.

Ryce had cornered her then, holed up in the video suite rolling back and forth through the tapes. “Go home, Lopez,” he’d said. She protested, but he was firm.

Ella went home.

She rested her head against the door frame.

Chloe was missing.

Palmer was dying.

Linda and Amenadiel had their baby taken from them.

She just… she couldn’t take on to any more sadness.

_Hey there, Big Guy… I’m not gonna ask You for anything You can’t give… just, please watch over my friends tonight._

She pushed open the door. “Margaret? Hey, chicka – I’m home, and I know it’s late, but please don’t start in on me ‘cause I had a day at the office like you wouldn’t believe…”

What could only be described as enthusiastic squawking erupted from the bathroom and Ella dashed down the hall, dropping bags and keys in haste to remedy the situation before grumpy old Mr. Palaskas could make another noise complaint (she personally believed the man taped his hearing aid to the ceiling, when he wasn’t using it to watch _Columbo_ reruns at full volume).

Margaret was waiting in the centre of the small room, looking particularly smug for having escaped her crate again, and she sighed, eyeing the state of her bathroom. “In the soap dish again? _Really?”_

The bird tilted her sideways at her master’s voice in keen, bright-eyed adoration.

Ella melted with a sigh. “Alright, you fluffy-butted velociraptor; this is a mess, but, omelette it slide just this once… Get it? _Omelette?_ Of course you do, and that’s why I love you.”

She scooped the small red hen into her arms, relishing the happy little percolating sounds she made when she nuzzled her. Then she grabbed a brightly polka-dotted fabric diaper from the cupboard drawer and tied it deftly onto the bird. “There you go,” she set her loose into the rest of the apartment, and began to clean.

Tonight, she was grateful for the busy work.

She put in her ear buds and put on her most eclectic playlist, then signing along to Bob Marley she puttered around the bathroom armed with rubber gloves and a spray bottle. The crate was emptied to _Metric,_ the hen box checked (no egg) and fresh newspaper spread to _Daft Punk_ , and she belted along with _Welshly Arms_ as she gathering up the paper drop sheets into a bag. Then she sprayed down the tiles, decided she’s shower first before lining the room again, and collected all the trash for a quick dash to the garbage chute down the hall. She locked the door behind her once more and made her way towards the living room to check on Margaret, pulling the gloves free one hand at a time.

 _“... I must confess I still believe… still believe!... when I'm not with you I lose my mind…”_ she slid into the living-room, _“give me a sign…_ RAE-RAE!”

The music ceased as she pulled the buds from her ears. Rae was sitting in the middle of her couch with Margaret on her lap looking as apologetic as ever. “Hey Ella,” she grinned meekly. “Long time no see?”

“No! Rae, _no!_ What are you doing here? You can’t be here. This isn’t a good time… oh my God, I _am_ losing my mind…” Ella dropped the gloves to the floor with a wet slopping sound.

The chicken fluttered up from her lap as she rose, clasping her hands together. “Yeah, timing’s not great, not really, for anybody,” her nose scrunched. “I get told that a lot, actually…! But that’s not why I’m here– Okay. See, Ella, _I need your help.”_

Ella was pacing back and forth the entire five feet of her living room. She stopped at the last part, looking up with confusion. “My help? You’re a ghost. Ghosts don’t need help! How can you possibly need _my_ help with anything?”

“I know, I know, _totally_ crazy isn’t it?” she bobbed in place uncomfortably. “So, you gotta realize that I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t a REALLY REALLY BIG DEAL. Also, I need to have your complete and total confidence on this too.”

“Without even telling me what it is? Though honestly, a ghost is asking me for help; does it even matter what it is…”

“Complete confidence,” Azrael repeated. “Pinky-swear.”

Ella stopped pacing long enough to consider the ghost, her awkward sweater riding up as she wiggled in spot, feet fidgeting and face looking even more perplexed than usual. She took a breath, consolidating. I mean, what else was she going to do? She was already talking to a friggin’ ghost. “Alright,” she reached over and hooked pinkies. “What is it?”

Relief flooded Azrael’s face. “Hold on!” and turned, blinking out of corporal existence. Margaret made a series of baffled burbling sounds in her throat, which spoke for the room. When Rae materialized once again, she was holding something in her arms. “Okay, so here’s the thing–”

“Charlie?” Ella’s face paled a thousand shades.

“Yes!” Azrael beamed. “And I am so _totally_ out of my league here, I mean, babies! who knew! I thought I could handle this, but apparently babies need– Ella?”

But the woman had sunk to her knees, folding over on herself, her breath coming fast and short.

“Ella?” Azrael frowned again, and Charlie contributed with a worried cooing. “What’s happening here, girlfriend?”

Ella was sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped around her knees. When she finally looked up, tears were streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, Charlie,” she murmured. “Because, you’re a ghost,” she sobbed quietly. “So that means... Charlie…” and she buried her head in her knees.

“Oh,” said Azrael, frowning again. “OH. Wait. No – no, no, it’s not like that, not at all, although I see how you’d come to that conclusion.” She rested the baby on her hip, thinking fast, as her friend continued to sob in silence. “What if I told you we’re not ghosts?”

“You’re not?” she sniffled suspiciously.

“No! Look!” she held Charlie out, _Lion King_ style, and he squealed gleefully with the upward movement. “Charle’s an _Angel!_

Ella sobbed even harder.

Azrael faltered further. “Not like that! Like – wings up, Charlie!” she commanded, but Charlie only blew spit bubbles. Margaret however took this moment to leave the room in a flurry of extravagant wing-flapping. Rae grasped for straws. “What if I told you _I_ wasn’t a ghost?”

Ella didn’t exactly look up, but the sniffles stopped, somewhat, only because she was catching her breath. “Then what are you?”

Azrael popped her wings.

“...also an Angel?” she confessed hesitantly. “But – not like a dead-person angel, that’s really a _huuuge_ misconception about the way death works and all that, but yeah. I’m an Angel. And Charlie’s an Angel… like his dad. My brother. And my other brother… you know, one big, awkward celestial family?”

Ella had stopped crying, her eyes wide and questioning. “Your… brothers?”

“Yeah,” she shrugged guilty. “Who’d have thunk, Lucifer, Amenadiel and me… I know we don’t look _anything_ alike - divine license, y'know - but get the three of us together in a room… although, it’s been a really, _really_ long time since that’s happened...”

Ella just stared.

Azrael frowned.

“Okay,” she readjusted Charlie to the other hip. “I get it that this is probably really weird and all shades of _Twilight Zone_ and _Black Mirror_ rolled into one, but, know I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t of the UPPER MOST importance and stuff… I just… don’t know what to do with a baby! Like, seriously, how many times a day do you change a diaper? And I needed to keep this on the down-and-low, because my brother – another brother, I have _a lot_ of them actually – sorta has the spotlight on me, and it really can’t be a good thing. It never is. But right now he’s been distracted with this whole ‘in-coming armageddon’ subplot that’s happening up there in the Silver City, which gave me an opening and so I said to myself, _‘Self,_ if there was anyone in the whole world who could help you with this complexing aspect of humanity, who would it be?’ And I’m like, _‘Self,_ that’s Ella! She’s my girl! She’ll know what to do!’ So, I know it’s kinda crazy showing up here and all, but – you _are,_ and, I _am._ So, Ella. Ella?”

But Ella didn’t speak.

In fact, Ella didn’t do much of anything.

She was sitting in spot, hands dropped to her sides, mouth hanging open just a touch.

“Oh boy,” said Azrael, her wings drooping while Charlie watched, chewing furiously on his hand. “Maybe this is going to be a little more complicated than I thought.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Dan's secretly the MIP of this chapter >.> Even if he _did_ quote Titus on parenting advice... 
> 
> So, hey - I have an ask of you guys!
> 
> I suck at summaries (or anything brief, really) but now that we're at the thematic turning point of the story I feel it's a good time to clean up some tags & maybe spruce up with a plot summery that's _actually_ about the plot? (idk, maybe suspense is better) Any suggestions/ideas about that? 
> 
> At this point, all the major themes are in play & characters introduced. And the next half is less case-fic and more impending armageddon, but I don't think anyone will complain about that. (Oh, and we're going back to Hell. And... other places. But now I'm getting ahead of myself). Next chapter probably won't drop before Season 5 does either, but if it does we can all be pleasantly surprised together XD


	14. The Devil You Need

There were quite a few things Mrs. Rodriguez was _not;_ she was not concerned by the passing of fashion trends for the past thirty years, nor had she ever come upon an illness that couldn’t be cured, in part, with green tomatoes; she had no interest in learning the various names and stages of the Pokémon, and her views on current musical trends were, as with the establishment of definitive bedtimes, non-existent at best.

But something she _was_ without a kibble of doubt: a dog lover.

She wore a locket with pictures of her three grandkids and Gigi, her late beagle, around her neck, with a twist of the dog’s hair inside. Her purse was filled with those pens and note pads you got when you donated to the SPCA, and while she was fond of wild-coloured blazers that suggested shoulder-pads had never really gone out of style, more often than not she’d be wearing a oversized-T with a puppy and the caption _“Dog is Love”._

She was wearing that very shirt when she picked up Trixie from the Sweet Shoppe and discovered the girls waiting outside, where they all began talking at once with great passion and esteem, both for their hero Trixie and the pooch sitting by her side, who looked vaguely shepherd and very confused.

When Trixie saw her she smiled, her face pressed against the dark brindled fur imploringly, and the first challenge was deftly won.

Back at Dad’s apartment, Mrs. Rodriguez showed her how to post a lost & found report through the local Pet Finder network, with Bear posing amicably for the photo. “To see if his owners are looking for him,” she said, and Trixie nodded along like she had every expectation of that being true.

Then, because he still smelled vaguely of rotten eggs, a bath was suggested – especially if Trixie planned to make a good impression on her Dad. Mrs. Rodriguez walked dogs for the older ladies in her condo, and carried around a small kit in her trunk with the basics – an extra leash, a tupperware full treats and another of kibble, and of course, dog shampoo. She told Trixie she could hang onto all of these until she had her own.

Thus challenge number two was progressing as smoothly as muddy suds down a drain, and Beros was just glad one of them felt confident about things, because at this moment it certainly wasn’t him.

He’d decided that Trixie was clearly some kind of high-level wizard.

He’d realized that pretty early on, because in his personal experience the magic of Earth was chaotic and frightening. It smelled of a thousand terrible smells and everywhere he turned the noise was overwhelming. True – he’d come into this place unprepared, following the seductive attar of lingering memories, only to be plunged into a hellscape of dissonance and smog. It got slightly better once he’d slipped into his human glamour, but that had hardly been a solution because it came with other challenges – namely, being expected to respond in a language he didn’t fluently speak. Perhaps his elder brother had been right to tease him about the virtues applying himself to his studies, but he still wasn’t about to admit _that_ out loud.

At least he _understood_ well enough. Some of the stranger idioms were lost on him, but Trixie was generally direct and forthright, which was how he came to the understand that he was now in the House of her Father, whose allegiance was to be won with both wit and charm.

Which is why he submitted himself to the bath.

Oh, the bath… of all the experiences in his young life, it was uncontestedly the worst. But Trixie was kind and placated him with something called _bacon strips_ , which was undoubtedly a kind of fae-based soul-stealing sorcery he probably shouldn’t even have tasted, let alone eaten the whole bag. (He didn’t eat the _actual_ bag – he’d tried, but Trixie had seemed pretty alarmed about that. He didn’t want to alarm her). But if winning over her father meant smelling like some kind of strange, odorous plant, well… there were worse things one could smell like.

It was through this burgeoning understanding he learned about her Mother, too. He discovered that both her parents had terribly dangerous jobs, with which he could empathize; after all, his father guarded the Gates of Hell. But her Mother she worried about in a way she didn’t directly address, but came across through the melancholy distance she put between them when she spoke, that had him turning – even though she was holding the sponge with all that smelly, bubbling goop on it – and lay his head on her shoulder.

“I just worry, I guess,” she’d said dismissively. “Even though she says not to, because she still sees me as this kid who can’t handle grown-up stuff. I mean, they _both_ do, and I know they’re just trying to protect me? But sometimes that just makes it worse, when they don’t say things…” she trailed off, running her fingers through soapy fur and forming stiff peaks with her hands.

Beros whimpered; he wanted to tell her he understood. _My mother chases the sun,_ he sighed deeply, blowing hot air against her ear. _It’s most important that she does, that she is there to snatch it when it falls. But I still miss her._

After the bath, Trixie expanded her demonstration of wizardry to include the rest of the bathroom’s novelties, including the blow dryer (which was possibly even more horrific than the bath) and the revelation that the white porcelain fountain on the floor was _also_ used to flush excrement away on top of supplying fresh drinking water; truly, the ingenuity of humanity knew no bounds!

“Alright, let’s go make you a bed,” she announced brightly when he was mostly dry.

He followed her into another room where she went on to effortlessly slay the darkness with a light that flared into brilliance above them, summoned with a flick of her hand. It was something he’d only ever seen demonstrated once before, by the Lord of Hell himself on his Presentation Day, when he’d been a mere whelp. It did make him sit up a little straighter.

Mrs. Rodriguez suggested a blanket on the floor at the foot of her bed, which Trixie began with much enthusiasm, if little intention of ever following though. Instead they sprawled on their backs, feet pointing at the ceiling and paddling the space between them while she giggled.

“Would you like me to take a picture to show your Dad?” Mrs. Rodriguez offered benignly, but Trixie shook her head.

“That’s okay, I’ve already texted him,” she held up her phone, although she wasn’t convinced her sitter wouldn’t do it anyway, grown-ups being what they were – saying one thing, and then doing another.

Except for Lucifer. He’d never treated her any differently than he did anyone else; that she could depend on.

At least, until he’d gone and left them.

She frowned. _But he’d come back, right?_

Deep down, she’d always known he would. He’d _always_ be there when they needed him most. Just… how was she going to convince him they needed him _all the other times,_ too?

Bear shoved his head under her chin, her worries dissolving as he butted against her, effectively toppling her against the pile of blankets she had yet to shape. “I’m glad _you’re_ here,” she told him.

And again, there was that strange feeling in his chest, like the whole thing might burst.

And later, when the phone rang, and Mrs. Rodriguez talked in hushed, hurried whispers which she thought Trixie wouldn’t hear, and the girl curled on top her bed with her face buried into the warm, dark fur to dry her face, he watched the moon-crescent crawl across the sky outside the window, ducking in and out of clouds as if to hide from his uncle’s steadfast pursuit.

He was a Hellhound and he was bound by the moon, but even as a pup he’d been different.

He’d wished for the sun.

He knew, it was only because of who his mother was that he’d slipped between realms as aptly as he had. He’d wanted to see this sun for himself, to feel its warmth on his face, only to discover when he got there that it remained so devastatingly far away.

But, he’d also discovered that cookies tasted like sunshine and words warmed with lavish brilliance.

And that perhaps your pack wasn’t the one who bore you, but the people you kept around you, and who kept you.

Stranger thoughts had never so engrossed a Hellhound as he drifted off to sleep.

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

In Heaven night too had fallen, but the sky was clear and illuminated by stars

They shone, sharp points burning brilliantly against the satin darkness, each a marker of days past, when everything was so bright and new and before anyone knew it could be broken.

 _What children we were then,_ his mind turned casually, grazing along the guileless memories of simpler times; it could almost be forgiven. And yet the stars continued to twinkle down incessantly without a care in the universe, immune to the weight that fell – of the mantel _others_ carried – just so they could continue to shine. It figured; they were so much like his brother, the one who fashioned them. His expression soured and he pulled away from the window, turning instead to the stars within.

The domed ceiling was an expanse of deep ultramarine and accented with an explosion of tiny, pin-pointed stars, each gilded gold and shining. Some even formed constellations, though Michael had little time for such frivolity, even if Phanuel had told him to wait. Instead he placed his hands against the broad, white disc that sat directly beneath dome’s zenith; stars reflected across its silent surface and mocked him even there. He shut his eyes. “How much _longer?”_

Gabriel looked up from the book he was pretending to read, glancing towards the long rows of shelves where within Phanuel had disappeared some time ago. “Time’s never quite been linear with that one,” he replied.

“And that’s a terrible trait for one who’s supposed to read the future.”

“Maybe,” Gabriel returned his gaze to to the book, mostly, so he wouldn’t have to engage with Michael more than he had to. “Or perhaps that’s why he’s good at it.”

“Then our definitions of ‘good’ differ significantly,” Michael sniffed. He put his eyes forward into the central point of the disc and raised his hand, and the surface awoke with a warm burble, a barely detectable shimmer lighting its alabaster face. It was already pulling up what he wanted to see, and the Tree materialized before him in excruciating detail, the crack so bright and sharp it seemed the sap would drip down onto the surface below. “Do you think we should have summoned Haniel too?” he mused.

“The Gardener?” Gabriel quirked a brow. “Why ever would you do a thing like that?”

“I know when you’re being glib with me, brother,” he huffed. “It behoves you to take matters as seriously as I do.”

“You know I could not possibly achieve that,” he exaggerated the motion, but set the book aside all the same and came to stand beside the disc. He watched the tree, the white petals still softly falling, and now the leaves, once so stubbornly green, creeping with yellow and rust. And the crack – oh, how the Heavens had shook when it splintered – nearly cleaved the trunk in two. He was impressed that it held together at all, and he put it down to willpower.

In truth, his worry ran every bit as deep as the fissure, but there was no use speaking on matters Michael had declared sovereignty over, at least, not within earshot. “How far does it reach?” he murmured instead.

The surface reacted, the tree rising up to form the image of a sphere from crown to roots, nodes of light glinting along the branches as the image solidified; the hairline split gleamed along its length like a lightning strike.

“All of it,” said Phanuel appearing behind them with his arms laden with books, though neither had heard any hint of his approach through the quiet library. “And if the cleft descends as it has been doing, it will reach Earth; and when it does… I don’t have to tell you the results could be catastrophic. Cataclysmic, even. And were it to reach Hell…”

“We won’t let it,” Michael avowed with certainty. “Which is why you must tell us how to stop it, or have the scriptures fallen silent again?”

“That’s not how it works,” Phanuel was unperturbed. “And if you have a problem with that, take it up with Father.”

His lips lifted just enough to show teeth, but he said nothing.

“What have you brought us?” Gabriel asked by way of distraction.

Phanuel set the books on the surface in two neat piles. “These are the ones you requested,” he directed to Michael. “The others I thought might be useful as well, if you are to approach this in a balanced and thorough fashion.”

Michael grasped the first book, a thick manuscript bound in hunter green, and glared at the pages as he flipped through. “There’s a lot of words here,” exasperation bit his tone. “I don’t have time to sort through all this. You, who has read every book in this Library, is it not your duty to counsel me on the matters within? You theorize, I react, we get through this in half the time…”

The long-suffering sigh was mostly contained as Phanuel took the book back into his possession, gently brushing his fingers over the pages as if to sooth away the restless energies. “Very well.”

He turned to the centre of the disc, and spun the image of the tree around with a gesture, the gaping wound closing before their eyes as he traced the progress back through time. Years spun like heartbeats, blending into millennia; the tree otherwise remained unchanged, no distress of seasons, just blossoms that twinkled endlessly alit.

Finally he paused, bringing the image to a gentle halt. “Here,” he said. “It begins.”

The golden-haired angel considered the image before him. He brought his hand out, and the image sank back, the scene expanding to bring the surroundings into focus. “This isn’t possible,” he frowned. “This suggests the crack began in the Garden.”

“We believe it did. It was the cause of much speculation even then, and led to a fracturing of philosophies surrounding the subject.” He watched the human figures, drawn in light, stroll beneath the lofty branches with their fingers entwined; he pulled himself away. “Why do you think Humanity has always been such a point of contention?” he finished primly.

“Ha,” Michael scoffed, the irritation spreading through his limbs and he pushed away from the table, done standing still. “Shall I count the ways? Was it Father’s causal withdrawal from His office and duties of Heaven while fielding this project, or Mother’s contempt that grew like a thunderhead until it spilled over all of us? You speak of philosophical contestations when in practice it went far beyond the wielding of words until Heaven itself was nearly torn asunder! And if Samael had succeeded… the very order of the cosmos could have been brought down then and there; all because of humanity.”

“To be fair,” Gabriel began, “that last part was mostly on us; humanity did little more than present a philosophical catalyst–”

 _“A philosophical catalyst?”_ he spurned. “Humanity represents the conflation of divinity and the mundane: the first time a mortal creature carried the divine spark, a _mortal_ beast with an _immortal_ soul! If what Phanuel displays before us is true, then their creation not only marked a new era within the cosmic scheme, but the act that could one day bring about its conclusion.”

He strode back to the disc and spun the image forward, the fissure flowing like a river of light down the length of the Tree. “If the fracture reaches Earth… what is that song they sing? _When the bough breaks, the cradle shall fall…_ so too will go Earth, humanity, and all… Perhaps, that is the point.”

“That’s a bit dark, even for you, brother.”

“I’m not wrong,” he shrugged, his lips curling again with the motion. “Besides, endings are inevitable; though it ‘twas a shame about the dinosaurs, I had high hopes for them. And you misread me, Gabriel, for I harbour no ill will towards Humanity, and never have. I simply understand it has its place, as we have ours. Lately, too many lines have been blurred and it has clouded our perception. But if the Revelations are true, and the End of Days upon us, then we must look ahead and reflect upon our actions as testament to our faith and purpose. Can humanity claim as much?”

“They are yet a fledgling species,” Gabriel tilted his head thoughtfully. “That’s why Father willed us to watch over them.”

“Which we did. But even so, there comes a time when one must cut the apron strings. And our losses.”

By this point Phanuel had recollected his books, and was moving back into the stacks to re-shelve them, and Gabriel was silent, staring at the muted image of the tree. “You truly see them a lost cause,” he spoke carefully.

He stood before the disc, frozen now as the surface waited for its next instruction. He gazed into the gauzy image, his eyes narrowed. “They lost themselves long ago. But, that is neither here nor there, not now. Simply, if we find ourselves facing the challenge of that final Gate, then choices will be made. Sacrifices will be made. And who, pray tell, would ever risk themselves to save them?”

Gabriel shrugged, returning to the lure of his book. “I suppose you’re right; can’t think of anyone in their right mind who’d buck that trend.”

Michael didn’t dignify that with an answer. Instead he pivoted, turning his back on the disc and the library and strode to the open window once more.

The City was spread below in the placid hush of night time, resting as it always did sprawled beneath the High Tower where their Father kept his thrown. The buildings were settled around the base of the tower like children flocked to their parent’s knee to hear a story, and, in the early days, this was not untrue. It had been many, many night times since Father had spoken to anyone, so these days the stories were usually told by Sarakiel, were usually histories, and boring, because they’d been told the same way for millennia. She still did attract a crowd, though. Angels could be a rather predictable sort.

In highest room of the tower, a light bloomed in the window. It always had. Father was always there. A millennia ago Michael could have starred at that light for hours and taken comfort in it, all the while waiting for a tiny flicker or fluctuation that might suggest movement, a change, _anything_ to acknowledge the world existing outside the window the same way he stood in his solemn adoration of it.

He didn’t bother to look now, because he knew what he’d see; that the light remained constant and steady needed to be enough. He was his Father’s Hand after all, with all the sobering responsibilities that came with it.

From this vantage he could also just make out the Garden in the distance, where the Tree wept blossoms of silent, silver petals in the starlight.

Yes, those stars were definitely mocking him.

But, stars were foolish and no concern of his; there were far more important things to be done.

Even without Phanuel’s directive, the situation had made itself known: if the Tree fell, so too could Heaven. He’d be damned if he let that happen. But whatever malignancy had set in had gone so long unchecked its decay seemed imminent, each falling petal settling like grains in an hour glass, mounting inevitability.

Yet, where there was life, was hope – just so long as the crack was contained before it opened into the Well that lay deep at the base of Creation and allowed Hell to spill forth unto the universe unbound... Then, all would be too late.

He considered the prospect with grim resolve; he expected there would be losses, he expected suffering and the bitter sincerity of sacrifice; this was not the first time he’d been to war. He’d been much younger than, and he’d been foolish. Reluctant, even. Well, no longer. He was prepared to stand before the deluge and bare that burden of judgment across his shoulders, the gallant weight of one whose responsibility it was to determine fate, swiftly and keenly. He wouldn’t hesitate again.

In the event of the End of Days, he would save the World – or at least the part of it that contained Heaven, if it came down to choosing between them.

And while Gabriel had offered doubt, he harboured little concern that anyone, not even Amenadiel – once the greatest among them, God’s Favourite (as he claimed), who of late seemed consumed with human trivialities to the point he’d let his own son remain in danger among them – why, even _he_ couldn’t hesitate to aid the realms if presented at the hour of need; even estranged, he was still God’s angel, and would strive to serve greater good.

 _To save, to serve, and to protect;_ this was the reason they had all been created.

And Amenadiel hadn’t really fallen, as Amitiel had pointed out, and Michael smirked at this. Not like their _other_ brother, that corruption of everything their Father had accomplished. But even Samael wouldn’t be a problem, for he’d never held a concern for anything beyond himself, no more now like an angel than he was like his stars, except in their indulgence of foolish things.

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

Over Los Angeles the sky was a starless dark reservoir above the city, orange dredges of light bleeding muddy colours across the low canopy of clouds. The hours ticked by, drawing the city closer to dawn, but for now it was black, still, and heartless.

Her knives whispered as she as she traced patterns through the air, practised movements that limbered the muscles and brought a grin to her face for it teased of the hunt, a prolonged and cultivated foreplay with the promise of delights to come. She stood on the wide, concrete perron that rose directly before the main doors mottled in hazy shadows, the security light long dashed and the remnants of signs, once cheerfully directing people into the building when it had been in use, were faded and peeling in a testament of decay.

With seamless grace she returned the knives to her side, tipping her head towards the wind burst that briefly disrupted the stillness to settle again alongside her. “Nice of you to finally show.”

The Angel said nothing, but his wings flexed, partially, to keep his balance.

“You look like Hell,” her tone was captious. He grimaced, holding up a finger for pause. An entirely new sensation was suddenly gripping him, and it was altogether unpleasant. Lucifer turned and was gracelessly sick over the side railing; Maze remained mercifully silent.

He straightened, haltingly, as he rallied. “Lovely. If this is what a hangover feels like, I have a new appreciation for Hunter S. Thompson’s hell loop,” he folded his wings, pushing back from the railing to size the entrance way and grounding his presence with a hush that seemed to settle the air around them. “That means the Detective is near… and the people who did this to her... Oh, the castigation I will bring down on them for their misdeed will _beg restraint–”_

“There he is,” Maze breathed as crimson lit the reflection in the glass. “That’s the Devil we need.” She unsheathed her knives again with a dangerous grin. “Doors are locked; want the honours or shall I?”

The main hallway was dark, streetlight marking the increments between windows in narrow bars of grey and blue, like tombstones and just as still. The flimsy silence hummed meekly with two small hazard lights that pooled on either end of the long corridor, there by regulation but in practice doing little more than providing false security.

Brittle darkness against nothing but the cold, tempered edge of night.

Then the doors shattered, the implosion funnelling down the halls to strip the silence with shards of crumbled plate glass scattering over the floor. Debris settled, falling back to earth with a hush and leaving the dust to recoil from the figures as they strode into the broken space.

“Find the Detective,” he spoke, his gaze grim and predatory. Her attention trained down the wide hall to the chambers concealed beyond and she was already afoot and moving within the darkness.

Of all the elements, Darkness alone knew better than to challenge its Lord and Commander. If only the living had half as much sense, but, mortals were often foolish. They believed in things that made little sense, and made sense of things they should never have believed in.

The irony of that was free will.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

He cradled the gun, feeling its weight in his hands, and admired the crude instrument for what it was: a means to an end, swift, and inelegant.

It was also temptation, so he resisted, for he was a man of Faith.

Instead he set the gun down beside her badge, beside the bible marked with a red string, the box which held a needle and vials, and the iron nails, sharpened now, so they wouldn’t pose such resistance as the last time. What was missing here were flowers, but he suspected God would forgive him, even though he knew the fields behind the building supported bindweed, long wisps of thready vines strung with fragile trumpets; he’d never find them in the dark. This would have to do. Derry bound the artifacts in a clean cloth, and tucked them with the others in his satchel.

He glanced at his watch; it was nearly time. He should return below and see that–

The quiet was abruptly broken, collapsing with his thoughts. He startled to his feet, stood, panting in the shallow silence that followed. There was never any doubt in his mind as to what it meant.

He took the gun after all, and made his way towards the others.

Kyle he met on the way. “I was just coming to get you,” he said, “there’s a problem.”

“I heard,” Derry humoured him. “Go see what it was.”

“With the lady,” Kyle interjected, but was already moving down the hall.

His pulse quickened, and he hurried; he burst through the door and surveyed in the scene. “Why is she not in the ceremonial robes?”

“You dress her,” Jake was glowering at him. “We just had to dose her again – the whole batch is bad!”

He turned to Brooke, who was crouching beside the slouched figure. “Yeah, she’s not completely out even, just look.”

Derry sighed, surrendering. “Fine. _Fine,_ we’ll take her like this. The Lord knows our intent, and as the Reverend says, ‘ _so long as intention guides our actions’..._ ” He reached into his satchel and drew the gun, steadying it between his hands. Brook backed away as he approached. “Get up, Detective. I know you can hear me,” he released the safety. “Perhaps this will make you a little more cooperative?”

She tilted her head back, and even that took effort. “If you’re just going to kill me anyways…”

“Oh, no,” he shook his head. “What we’re offering you is far more gracious – a final chance for redemption, to atone for your sins and make the ultimate sacrifice on behalf of mankind. Surely as a cop you are familiar with that rhetoric?”

“As a cop… that sounds completely fucked up.”

He almost smiled. “You forget; I also control how much or little of this you’ll feel. To cleanse the flesh is to clear the soul, and both must be done in order for this hellish fate to be abated. I’m not heartless, but I’d be lying if I said it would bother me to see you suffer your sins a little longer. So get up.”

They’d unbound her wrists when they’d come with the robes, but she was still outnumbered and woozy from the drugs. Her hands scrunched into fist, but the reality of the situation hadn’t changed, and now he looked down at her over the barrel of her gun. She nodded, slowly.

“Help her,” he instructed, and Brooke was moving in to scoop an arm under her shoulders. “Good. Let’s go.”

Down the hall and into the stairwell Derry lead the way through the dim, parishioners on a holy pilgrimage marching towards the promise of salvation. The building was eerily still, the smell of cold cement permeating the air with the blush of dampness and mildew. Before they reached the next set of doors he stopped again as a harsh, strangled cry divided the air.

“What was that?” Brooke startled.

“Probably that raccoon again,” Jake seemed less convinced than his words.

“Better check we’re still locked down,” Derry turned to him, holding his gaze until he nodded. After he was gone he turned to Brooke, “there are many ways the Devil tempts us, and by far, distraction is the worst of these. It removes our focus from what is really important here. And we mustn’t lose sight of that. You understand?”

She nodded mutely, but the woman whose arm she supported gave a short, dry laugh.

“You honestly believe the Devil is interested in what every ordinary human is up to?” she exhaled.

Derry shrugged. “In the end, it really doesn’t matter what I believe.”

Handles turned, opening the double doors into the open space beyond and he threw on the lights. They responded, warming with a delayed thrum, flickering to life and plunging the arena into a maze of hard shadows. Long abandoned, most of the chairs were missing from the bleachers, the ones that remained littered alongside stacks of crumpled storage boxes and other refuse. The rink had been years without ice but cement held the cold even after the surface had been left to crack and decay, parked with discarded utility vehicles that had once cared for the outlying grounds and what looked to be a parade float of some kind of animal, long dismembered and unidentifiable without its head.

The centre however had been swept, and the cross stood singularly, casting a long silhouette across the floor.

The sight flooded him with relief, a euphoria that expunged his worry and buoyed him with confidence. Now that they’d arrived, the rest would come easily. It always had. He turned, waving the gun at them to enter. “All that matters now is that your sin shall be purged, and the world set free, and the Devil shall not win the day.”

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

She knew God had forsaken her when she was 14 years old, and kissed Jason Brewster behind the garage.

It was a sin, though not her first, it was first that made fear her place: as a daughter, one day a wife, and Bride of God. At church that Sunday the Reverend's words bore deep into her trembling soul as he spoke of eternal damnation, of temptation and the seductive, serpentine path that lured innocence astray.

She was 19 when she married Ashton White, and realized what God had taken away.

She watched her friends swell with grace and life, bearing their gifts from God with parental pride while she found herself again beneath the sterile lights, the invasiveness of the procedure an attestation to the punishment she’d earned for her misdoings. How she’d prayed then, if not for herself, then for her husband. But the doctors remained firm.

_God giveths, and God takeths away._

She would never bare children.

She supposed she could be grateful Ashton hadn’t left her then and there. But ten years is an eternity to bear the burden of another’s sin, and Derry had counselled her so when she told him her husband planned to leave her.

And then, _then,_ her niece – dear, sweet Meila, a child of summer – had confessed her secret, her own temptation of sin, and she knew – she _knew_ – God was offering a reprieve. That she might save three lives, if she would but accept a blessing delivered in disguise.

She’d told Derry that much, for he had always been a confidante, both at work and as home unravelled into tattered shreds. Her heart was full when she’d disclosed the news.

She’d looked up to him. She’d trusted him. Why would she not?

For that, hope had died in her arms.

Condemned again, as it were, for sins that spoke against ecclesiastical right, though Hannah found she’d lost her will to speak long ago. Maybe she could have saved her, if she’d been louder. If she’d been braver. If she’d not been so weighed down by the burden of sin herself.

Sin collects at your feet like leaden leaves, each seemingly inconsequential on its own, but in their abundance bury you as you stand, dragging down everyone around you in its wake.

Loss was still a sharp wound that Miranda dug open by the simple act of her being there.

And if this was God’s will, well, that’s why she’d gone to see the Devil.

And afterwards, as her mind reeled with revelations and burdened truths, it was Derry who found her at her most vulnerable, listening to her frenzied rambling until he shut that down too. He shut the room and locked the door.

Four white walls, a cot to sleep. It was far better than she deserved.

She sat in the corner, her forehead pressed against the wall until it cut bruises into her face. Still more than she deserved.

The door shook. Then the lock clicked, and it swung open.

“You,” the voice said slowly. “Our Lady of Gloom and Doomsday? Not what I expected to find behind door number two.”

The air that shifted across the floor was cold, yet where the Devil walked it seemed to shimmer, radiating with the immoderacy of his presence. He whirled to take in the room’s stark amenities and the woman, dressed the same as he’d seen her two days before. Her eyes tracked him wildly. She knew him; she’d seen his Face.

Contrition formed his words and he spoke, carefully. “Why are you here?”

“The Lord wills it,” she whispered.

“I assure you he does not,” the Devil said.

She shuddered, a pitch to her voice as she lay her head upon her hands. “Then I am truly damned.”

“Bloody hell,” he brought his own hand to his face in exasperation, which startled the woman back to attention, watching in bewilderment as he fulminated. “That’s not how it works! That’s not how _any_ of it works! God doesn’t damn you, _I_ don’t damn you – you humans all _damn yourselves!_ And what makes you think you’re destined for hell-bound hospitality? tell too many sermons outside Sunday School? … or, you _did_ harm those women, didn’t you?”

Hannah nodded, flinching away from the hellfire in his eyes. “They’re dead because of me. Maybe I could have done something... but instead, I made it _so much worse…_ After what he did to _her,_ it was too late,” she sobbed plaintively. “And I just wanted to believe that there was something – something greater than this wretched, pointless life. That God had a plan, and might even forgive someone like me. But… here _you_ are, so I guess that’s my answer.”

The Devil had stilled, the sound that escaped his lips a hiss as much as it was a laugh. “Let me see if I follow… you listened to ol’ Derry-boy and he led you down the path of homicide – or at least accessory to murder – which at some point made you seriously question your life choices – as one should – yet, at the end of it, you’re most concerned about _‘His Plan’?_ Well here’s some irony: you humans have complete freedom to choose your own paths and plans _AND YET_ you keep blaming everyone else for your stumbles and shortfalls when all you needed to do was pick yourselves up and forge a new one…! Although... I suppose that’s not so easy as it sounds in practice. Especially if you’ve never considered that route before… you’re not even sure if you’re capable of it, let alone competent… when there’s so much at stake. And some of those paths… why, you’re pretty much damned if you do and damned if you don’t, so in the end, what’s the bloody point?! Because if I stay _here,_ I can’t protect her from Hell, and if I remained there, I can’t protect her from humanity, and if can’t do _that…_ what use am I to her, especially now?!”

She blinked at him. “Um… are you… _sure_ you’re the Devil?”

He fixed her with a look of pure incredulousness.

“Lucifer,” Maze ducked into room, giving the woman only a passing glance, “this floor’s clear; she was here, but they’ve moved her. Let’s go. Unless… this is one of them?” she growled at the figure in the corner, fingers tightening around her blades. “I'll make her feel–”

“Not necessary,” he stayed her hand, dispelling her interest with a shrug as she withdrew back into the darkness down the hall. His gaze returned to Hannah, oddly pensive. “Let’s try something. This door is open. All you have to do is walk out, and you can start building your life again into any direction you choose. Make amends, start over, start again. Or you can sit here, brooding over all the terrible things you’ve done, the mistakes you’ve made, people you’ve hurt, and let the guilt and shame of all those deeds bind you in place. What shall it be, Ms. White?”

She considered him, then said in a rushed breath, “this is really what I deserve.”

He stood before her in that moment without pretence that he was anything but something entirely ancient, the sum of eons weighing his features and dispersing the ghost of expression that had flitted there briefly, settling instead into a deep and nebulous melancholy behind his eyes. “That’s what I thought,” he said. “Just as I am, most assuredly, the Devil.”

He left the door open.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

“Where’d Kyle and Jake take off to?” Brooke griped, more a nervous tick than a show of real concern. “This would be easier with them here…”

The cross was anchored to a steel plate, but it wobbled just enough to require the sandbags piled as ballast, the heavy wooden frame jutting overhead like a mast. Chloe shut her eyes, blocking it out. They’d allowed her to sit, slumped at its base, and she took the opportunity to ground herself. Brooke was fishing for the end of the duct tape, and Derry stood a short distance away, his tools of ceremony spread on a crudely made table between two sawhorses. The gun rested in front of him, too far away to claim for herself when she couldn’t trust her own reflexes.

 _You’re not helpless,_ she drilled, until it became a mantra. _Use what you do have._

She watched Brooke pull a line of tape free from the roll. “You sure they’re coming back?” she mustered, wishing it didn’t hurt so much to talk. Her throat was dry, so terribly dry it hurt to swallow.

“We don’t need them,” Derry cut her a look. He took the gun again, his approach unhurried. “Seems your dose is beginning to wear off. So, you have two choices. The first is in vial number one; if you cooperate, it’ll ease the pain. But if you don’t, vial number two will remove your ability to make that choice, to resist, move, even to speak, but… you’ll feel every last thing. What will it be?” the barrel nodded back and forth between them.

“You know it’s in poor taste to swing a gun around you don’t intend to use. Have you even shot–”

The pop startled her more than she expected, her heart tripping over inside her ribcage. Brooke swallowed her surprise, but Derry’s face remained grim. “I’ve really had enough of you. Get up, let’s get this started. Brooke, her arms,” he gestured with the gun, and the other flinched as she brought the duct tape forward.

Chloe rose slowly, schooling her expression into something neutral in defiance of the pounding in her chest. When Brooke took her arm she stiffened, resisting the tug against her sleeve.

“Easy or hard,” Derry readied the gun.

A memory came fleetingly, drawing space between the worlds and she let herself drift. _‘So you do prefer it hard’_ he’d grinned, that look of smugness on his face, but also reverence; when the most difficult part had been finding the courage to bridge that last bit of distance between them, while she was already safely encircled within his arms… That had been this morning, or a hundred years ago, and the sudden awareness of loss escape wordlessly between her lips, of how precarious this all was, how fickle was life, how fleeting…

 _Focus Decker,_ she pulled herself back, breaking the surface like water for a gasp of air. _You’re still here, you’re stronger than all of this…_

Her arm was taken and pressed to the wooden frame, wrapped in a thick band of black tape; satisfied, Brooke tore the end clean and turned to do the other. Brook, with dark hair and a gleeful zealousness that reminded her in passing of Ella, though the two could not be more different. “You don’t really believe all this?” she murmured. “You know this can’t be right. No God would ask for this, not one who’s unifying message was about compassion, and love—”

The woman gave her a blank look as she pulled the tape. “It’s… not about God. It’s about stopping the Devil. And for that, there’s an acceptable risk I’m willing to take. And you…” a new look spread across her face, this one unmistakable: disgust. “You, and the abomination you carry–”

 _“Hurry up,”_ Derry barked. “There’s no time for this, _the day of judgment will give account to every idle word–”_

“Why now, what’s the hurry, Derry-boy?”

The voice rolled down like thunder, softly, dangerously, over the corruption of hallowed ground. The gun swivelled, following the voice upwards to the open gallery that extended above the bleachers. There the figure stood unmistakably inhuman as he spread massive, immaculate wings. “Were you expecting someone, perhaps? Pray it wasn’t me.”

The rush of air made him stumble, but only a step, and he put both hands over the trigger. _“Stay back!”_

Wings shivered, every feather erect and gleaming like a bird of prey. “I don’t think you understand how this going to work,” Lucifer pursed, his gaze sliding from the stupefied man to the wooden cross where the Detective was immobilized. Fury was a beast in his chest he kept restrained, for the balance hung with a delirious precision, where man and god faced each other as counterparts and no power reigned absolute. But that _she_ was still alright, of all the truths these past hours had exposed, _this_ was what mattered most, what made everything else matter.

Their eyes held. There was no question of vulnerability, yet he’d draw that fire towards himself, the most formidable target in the room. She knew that. She couldn’t let him. She needed to be out of this restraint twenty seconds ago.

Ignoring the muzzy static in her head she tugged against the unanchored roll of the tape while Brooke remained transfixed. Her left arm snapped free in triumph, startling the other woman backwards and into the retreat of shadows; as if they would ever offer her sanctuary, oblivious as she was to what lurked within. Chloe pivoted, stiff fingers rooting against the tape that still held her in place, her nails skidding over the waxy surface.

The gun was still cocked and squared at the balcony, the hands visibly shaking. _“Don’t move!”_ Derry screamed into the space between them. “I will _end this,_ Satan! The power of God is vested in me, and I will _stop this!”_

“Oh, Derry,” Lucifer shook his head. “What a wretched mess you’ve made of things. Did you really think this was the way to solve all the world’s problems? That God would mark you for this, that He was speaking to you – you! – directly?”

He held his ground; honestly, he wasn’t sure how he hadn't bolted. It was as if someone else had stepped inside his fallible shell and taken the helm, one who was not concerned that he was merely a man and that the creature in front of him was not. He found, he wasn’t really bothered. He had lived his life in mindfulness, to be the vessel God required him to be, and here – _here_ was his reward: proof of the divine, proof that Heaven and Hell existed, proof that God breathed through every tangent of the universe, within and without.

And proof of the End of Days, that the Devil himself gleamed before the trembling world, and he alone stood on the threshold between them.

It was the sort of thing that drove saints mad and struck the faithless to their knees, but he had not budged. Had he lost his senses? That did cross his mind, but in a far-off sort of way, indistinct and without consequence. Instead, Derry aimed skyward, and the Angel of the Lord looked down on him, the awesome glory of Heaven and Hell radiating from his presence.

“I’m not afraid,” he raised his voice, for in this moment he believed it.

The Devil grinned. _“You should be.”_

The quiet rage that simmered under guard now grazed along the inside of the skin, nipping the surface with hot, white flames. Above his head the halide light suddenly flared and popped, the cascade of electrical sparks bursting with a sharp, acrid smell as glass rained through the wired cage and down below. One by one each blazed and shattered, plunging the arena into a tremulous darkness, to be dispersed again by flames that traced the edge of each feather in bright, mercurial light.

He felt the scintillating lick of the flames, but they mattered little. If this was hellfire, he embraced it, wilful to become judge, jury, and executioner, _his Father’s rules be damned_ so long as it protected her; there was no action more urgent, more just or worthy that he would surrender himself unto. His voice rumbled deep in his chest. “I don’t know what distresses me more… that you would think the balance of Creation would come down to the actions of a single person… or that you – _you,_ pathetically skittish and obstinately unimaginative little _Derry-boy_ – would be the one entrusted to restore that balance and ‘save it all’? At some point even you should’ve have grasped how ludicrous this all is!”

“I’ll shoot,” Derry gripped the trigger.

“Tease; do you really think that you can take down the Devil?”

Derry scuffed the crumbling pad with his foot, purchasing ground, and felt the cramps working their way up his legs. He couldn’t run now if he wanted to. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered, he realized, but this moment – _this moment_ – a fixture set apart from time and space, which would determine all others that came after; he found suddenly he was unshakably calm.

“I… I don’t,” he said breathlessly. “I don’t have to stop you. I only have to stop this.”

He swung the gun sideways and fired.

She recoiled on instinct. The bullet struck the post, embedding deep. She never saw the angel move, felt only the rush of dry air followed by the anguished scream he tore from the gunman’s throat. Then an arm was braced beneath her as the blade sliced between sleeve and beam as cleanly as a fleishmaster cleaves sinew from bone. “Maze!” she cried.

“Let’s move,” the demon greeted.

“Wait–” she led with her body, nearly tumbling from Maze’s grasp as momentum brought them to ground. _“Lucifer–”_

Maze huffed, impatiently unsympathetic. “Decker, have you ever seen an angry archangel? Because it’s not pretty, Wrath-of-God and all that flash. Not particularly conducive to staying alive either, so—”

 _“We’re not leaving him like this,”_ she gritted her teeth on every word, and while the demon might have pursed her lips, she made no further demurral.

Derry cried out again, a high, mewling sound he didn’t remember making. He was pinned with his arm braced in a broken angle, bone and metal shattered beneath the crushing grip that dragged him to the floor. Even as his fingers had squeezed around the trigger he’d felt the force strike him, snapping him down and around like he were some ragdoll, breaking what remained of his resolve as easily as bones and mercilessly plying him down. Now it loomed, a terrible, searing silhouette against the black canopy above.

 _“Why would you do that,”_ the angel spoke, and the voice ground against his chest and stayed the words from forming protest. He struggled to speak anyways.

_“The sins of the father—”_

“Don’t you _dare_ speak to _me_ of sins!”

On either side the spilth of boxes ignited in a rupturing of silent white flame, encircled the rink as he eased himself down beside the man, a wolf hunched and leering over its quarry, even as Derry worked to right himself, hobbled as he was on one hand.

“Oh, we’re not done yet,” he chastened as the man flinched away from his advance. “How about I expose this little prevarication for what it is: that be you saint or sinner you’re all the same – all willing to condemn another without so much as a gander towards your own blighted narrative! To let someone else take the fall for all the actions you were too craven to enact yourself, to make a martyr out of those whose independence you despised. Oh, I know your type only too dearly,” he seethed with contempt, “for not only is Hell full of them, but Heaven _abounds_ with their multitudes!”

He caught up the shirking man by his collar, drawing so close the flames dared to burn both their faces. _“Sins of the father…_ shall we really talk now about my sins?” his voice writhed with barely contained rage. “Better yet – how about _my_ Father’s? Because if anyone is to blame then what of Him: _He who designed us to do His bidding,_ to create and to marvel after Creation itself, employ us into each of His ostentatious schemes without instruction or elucidation, and then – and here’s where it gets really interesting – and _then_ , when one of us asks “why”... _He doesn’t answer!_ When we began to see beyond the marvel and question what we perceive, what assurance does He give? _Only_ silence. And when we needed—” his frame shuddered over the words, catching light and enwreathing them in a blustering tempest, “when we wanted to know what explicitly He expected of us, His _children,_ what did He do? _He abandoned us._ Left us in simmering silence while He tried again to make Creation work – _because at some point even_ He _must of realized **how bloody broken everything was!”**_

The arena boomed with the gravity of his voice, the remaining plate glass giving out in peels of twinkling dissonance. The fire had become a wall, sealing off the boundary to the outside world until this blazing hell-scape became the whole of existence, the contents all burning and deformed, broken and discarded things the world had thrown away, surrendering passively to the advancing tongue of flame. Smoke billowed, thick and grey. It smelled of ash, of Hell, that place which consumed him and despite the distance never seemed any further away. And what did it matter? the world would burn and he would still be nothing more than this King of Ash. There was only anguish there, inescapable; no matter how hard he tried he would never be anything but the wayward son who once endeavoured to stake his mark for the betterment of the world only to have it all come crashing down instead. It persisted, evermore a loop unbroken.

 _“Lucifer,”_ the words brushed against him. _“Stop; please.”_

He came crashing back to himself. His awareness of Heaven, Hell, and Earth existed in a continuum from which he’d remained so long unanchored, endlessly adrift in procession's churn that even now it baffled him to find there was another way, a lodestar shining with a brilliance that didn’t burn but warmed with grace, a tether-point that grounded him and marked his place against the wandering universe.

He stopped, his fingers closed at Derry’s throat, the choked sounds he hadn’t heard him make flecking beads of spittle over the swollen lips.

“Let him go,” she urged softly.

He stared at the man, feeling flesh give, if only he urged it a little further, a familiar course marked by the millennia's scars across soul. This, he knew he could do. “He must be made to answer—”

“And he will; but, he’s not what’s important right now.”

Lucifer dropped him. The body slumped to the floor with a dull thud and he stepped back, as if taking appraisal of his surroundings for the first time.

The world really was burning. _He’d allowed Hell to come to Earth a second time and threaten the people he cared about._ Yet this was unlike any hellfire he’d seen… It shifted colours, gleaming with the intensity of sunlight against the surface of water, bright with heat, a fleeting memory over his skin – and then he realize his flesh wasn’t burning. It roved, spilling light from his wings in plumes of radiance that danced across the dusky surfaces beyond his reach, stirring visions half-remembered that haunted him in glimpses as ephemeral as smoke.

That once, before he’d been consecrated by the fires of Hell, he’d been blessed with starlight.

When he’d been the kind of angel who created beauty and dared wonder, and when hope was something he wasn’t afraid to hold. When he thought himself capable of creating change, for the better, when he’d brought light into the world.

Light and dark, two halves entwined, with power vested in each.

He turned, sending smokey tendrils into submission, the flames responsive to his shifting mood and shrinking from his presence. Another pass and they were gone. Smoke thinned into the air and the arena was still, illuminated by the soft effulgence of his wings.

Quiet, except for the muffled snivelling at his feet.

Memories settled, shifting like ash, and blew away.

“Leave,” he said coldly, never looking down. _“Now._ And pray you never cross my presence again. And if you so much as think about the Detective or her child – my child – there is no God who can save you from me. As your book says, _‘the son shall not suffer for the iniquity of the father, nor the father suffer for the iniquity of the son, but the wickedness of the wicked shall be upon himself,’_ and as every bit as wicked as you are, Derry, _I am so much worse.”_

The man made no further sound in his retreat as he half scrambled, half crawled on elbow and knees into the strata of grey that drifted beyond the pool of light until darkness consumed him.

Then Maze was on her feet, for no deal was struck with her knives and they were eager claim a share.

And Lucifer turned, finding her where she sat in repose at the base of that wooden monstrosity, besieged by petals of ash that skirted her presence as if even Hell would dare not mar such grace, more beautiful now than he remembered even with the weariness of the world wrapped around her. She was alright. She was the woman for whom he’d go to Hell and back, willingly, again and again, who’d once shot him to prove he was everything he claimed to be, then showed him instead he was something he never believed he could be. She loved him, as if it were a simple act and not so immense it ballooned in his chest and filled his being, leaving him overwhelmed and humbled. And who, despite all, for some inexplicable reason, was smiling at him.

He decided he could figure all that other stuff out later.

For now, here was everything that was important.

─────⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅─────

She came to stand in the woods where the trees grew silently, where roots tangled deep into the layered dirt as keenly as their branches spanned above, linking earth with sky. She always felt that connection most strongly here, surrounded by trees. They reminded _her_ of when finding her place had been as easy as slipping through their branches.

Once, when there had been a Garden. Once, when she had known her place.

Once, long ago, when a Tree grew between them, steadfast and unblemished.

She closed her eyes.

The sound of the forest fell away as she reached her hand towards the trunk of a smooth aspen; not the largest tree in the woods, nor the oldest, but its roots had outlived everything in the basin, tapped into a subterranean network and intermeshed with ancient earth. Here, the Tree whispered to her through the solitude, the reach immeasurable like growth that seemed so slow but in time brought forth giants. She’d learned that long ago, when she’d first fled the Garden under the cover of stars.

Tonight was dark and starless, but Lilith felt exposed.

And the Tree – the Tree no longer whispered.

The moment her fingers touched a sensation ripped through her arm like electricity, nearly jolting her backwards, but she braced herself, palms against the bark until the nerves were overwhelmed and numbed, and gradually, sensation itself fell away. First it was the forest, then the night bereft of stars, and then Earth was gone too. It was almost like falling, except for the press of ground beneath her feet, the bark at her palm, and the embrace of branches that brushed her body as she pushed between them.

Her hand slid from its smooth purchase to sink deep into the splintering maw, breaking against the surface of her skin and drawing blood. Eyes snapped open, taking a moment to comprehend what it saw, the scent of wet pulp and sickly-sweet sap inundating her nostrils.

The crack was insurmountable.

Above it the branches yawned, aching with the strain of remaining erect, weeping petals, hanging in what seemed to be a suspension of animation, as if this couldn’t be real, _this couldn’t be…_

Shuddering, Lilith sunk back into the Tree, feeling the familiar rush of space around her; this time she fell. Then there was the ground again, as there had always been. Again, she pushed her way through the branches.

Ash swirled, and came to settle on her face, a smudge of dust and marked her; Hell always welcomed her back and never asked questions.

She turned to the base of the tree that protruded from the coal-coloured rocks, where the roots had split them in its eagerness to harness the ground beneath. Or maybe the rocks had grown up around the Tree, for it was impossible to tell which was older. The ash was heavy here, settled deep into the crevices, and she sunk her hands into the murk and began to dig.

Ash brushed aside like snow exposing the wrinkled trunk, ash mixed with sap and blood and clung to her fingers, forming a grey sludge that marred the texture of the bark, smeared with every pass of her hand. The more she tried to brush it away, the more the sap flowed, an ache untended, a wound exposed and bleeding.

Then she tried to stem the flow with her hands, sheer of will and wit of magic, but that was pointless too; the sap ran, dark and thick and gleaming against the grey.

With a furious cry, Lilith turned and flung the muck from her firsts, stifling the sob that escaped her expanding lungs. Dry air burned her throat and nostrils. She wiped her her eyes with the back of her hand, suddenly not caring how dirty they were, because, what was the point? She leaned against the tree, sinking down on a globular stump of twisted root, the sap trickling in a slow ribbon of liquid resin, spilling over roots and stones to pool on the ash-covered ground.

“Hard day top-side, was it?”

She’d been sitting with her face in her hands for some time before he spoke. “Vohlke; what mischief do you seek this fine eve?” She wished to ignore him, they way one does a mosquito, whose persistence prevails until it bites and you regret your choices.

“Mischief, m’lady? I seek no such thing.” He was perched on the outcrop just above her, his filthy limbs long and spindly, neck protruding and hooked like a vulture’s; his face was rather beakish too. “I was just out for a stroll, and I chanced upon you! What a bit of providence is that.”

“Indeed,” she resigned her hands to her lap and looked up at him, her face humourless. “For whom, I wonder. We both know you there is very little you’d attribute providence to, unless by some careless mistake it amuses you.”

His laugh wheezed like an engine that failed to ignite. “Eh, y’got me. Still funny though. And yes, this is a happy accident. Because I found you. And I know something you don’t know. And it’s downright _succulent–”_

Surprise cut his laugh short as a tendril snapped around his bony leg and dragged him over the crop to dangle, his tattered cloak falling over his face and muffling his words.

“You’re very foolish to disturb me so near the Tree, Vohlke. But you’ve always been foolish, and I have little patience for fools. Especially of a half-demon wannabe who’s ever scrapping for the crumbs at Ashmedai’s feet. Whatever things you know are of use only to the grubs and weevils who share your bed–”

“You’ve– been gone a while! Things happened! _I know!”_ he squeaked, his harried movements causing the vine to spin him in lazy circles. “It’s about the Tree!”

“Any relevance towards the Tree you posses is as fertilizer–”

“Ashmedai plans to send his army through. _His_ words, not mine. Only my ears witnessed–”

“Then Ashmedai’s as foolish as you, because I will never take him. He knows that–”

“Doesn’t need you! Not with the crack–” Vohlke spun again, gasping as the tendril around his limb pulled tighter still as if to snap the bone. “My leg!” he moaned, “Two fine, straight legs I have, m’lady; take pity, I _beg_ you…”

The sap was still gleaming on her hands as she lowered them, and the vine responded, dropping the demon to the ground. He sputtered, struggling to get upright and untangle his clothes. Lilith was standing over him and he cowered beneath her shadow. “Speak,” she instructed him. “Before I change my mind.”

Vohlke broke in an obsequious stream. “It was Satharien! _She_ started it… we all felt the world shudder, m’lady, and oh, how we trembled when it did! But Satharien was bold, and she went looking for the source. She’s the one who found the crack! And she advised Ashmedai what it meant, that the cleft could be forced open because the Gates between the realms had weakened… and you _weren’t here,_ m’lady, so we were all just doing as best we could… “

He trailed off, his head bent low but an eye roved in the direction of the Lady. “Truth. Scout’s honour,” he threw a half-hearted salute.

“Then why were _you_ here, Vohlke?”

“Well – _someone_ had to watch it! Can’t let just anyone just go wandering through!”

“How properly noble of you,” she minced. “Consider yourself hereby relieved of duty, and never let me catch you within a stone’s throw of the Tree again. Because you _do_ have such nice legs, you know; it would be a shame to break them.”

He began to protest, then caught himself, and slumped into a shallow bow. “Yes, m’lady.”

She watched him straighten his cloak and shuffle off, his spindly legs striking at the ground like a rooster but without any of the grace or swagger. She shook her head.

Satharien, on the other hand, was more worrisome; she was like her mother, fierce, and determined. She also perceived a slight against her person when Pangeni was named Praetorian and not her, although she would never say this to her King (it was to her mother she’d complained, and Lilith, invested as she was in all her children, had told her to suck it up; she wondered now how much of that had been taken to heart, and decided not enough, most likely). Even so, squabbles among the Demons of Hell were as constant as ash, and uprisings usually settled themselves back down before the King ever need lift a finger.

But this was not usual times.

The realms held their breath, and the foundation of the world shivered.

They _knew,_ they all knew now, that something profound had broken.

Lilith turned towards the base of the great Tree and lay her hands upon the gnarled surface – her dirty, soot-caked hands stained with sap and blood.

She knew tears could not wash away those sins, but let them fall anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live, and we celebrate with another chapter! Apologies for the silence; work crammed six month's worth of lost productivity into the last two and I'm loosing my damn mind. But enough about that - how are you? I hope you're all keeping well in these crazy times <3
> 
> And S5a dropped! Ages ago now, but did we love it? I did! I think XD Even if I felt _their_ Lilith got the short end of the plot-stick; but, that's exactly what fanfics are for.
> 
> Also, I'm gonna gloat. I got Micheal's powers right!!! No - you didn't miss anything, he hasn't explicitly used them on anyone here yet, but you may recall a certain motivational speech contrasting the power of desire vs fear? Oh Lilith, our lovely Lady of Foreshadowing, you... :)
> 
> Anyhoo, while I'd love to say I'm back to updating regularly, it's saner to aim for every other week; then you can be unexpectedly happy if I post early, and not hate me too much when I'm late. Because I KNOW there's a lot that _didn't_ happen in this chapter, and it _will_ , in length, in the next. Yeah, next chapter is already like 75% pure dialogue, just so you know. I warned ya XD


	15. The Breakfast Club

Lucifer stared into the depths of his coffee mug. The liquid was dark and unyielding, mostly whiskey, and at this point, mostly cold.

At least the hangover had completely worked its way through his system and he could appreciate the whiskey again (he decided, vehemently, he didn’t like it when they quarrelled). The worst had passed some hours before whilst he’d been waiting with the Detective at the hospital, where no manner of devilish persuasion could hurry up the on-call sonographer who’d been held up by an on-going labour dispute in the adjacent wing (the dispute included the doctor who really wanted to go on meal break, the baby who refused to be born in any sort of timely schedule, the mother who was seriously reconsidering the miracle of natural childbirth, the intern who fled the scene under the guise of ‘finding someone more experienced’, the father, having belonged to the football team back in high school, remembered enough of the maneuver to catch the infant when it decided to make a sudden and abrupt appearance in the hallway outside the mat ward, and Lucifer, who by that point thoroughly regretted having mojo’d the supervisor for information). But, that was getting off course.

He was leaning against the small island that dominated the Detective’s kitchen as if the island could use the support. It also gave him a purpose, which kept him out of the living room, and this was dandy because it meant he didn’t have to interact with anyone. Such as Maze, who was always gregariously chatty after a successful play of cat-and-mouse (particularly when she got to play with the mice) and at some point even _she_ would realize Daniel was asleep.

Dan began to snore. Lucifer downed the rest of his drink in one go.

Daniel had arrived with Trixie just as he’d finished making the Detective breakfast, having arrived home themselves barely the hour before. With daylight singeing the horizon, Chloe debated between a shower and falling straight into bed, but in the end the desire to wash away every last remnant of the past night won out, and so she did, while he set about busying himself with the food. That’s when the Spawn arrived – Spawn #1, he realized suddenly; because _Spawn #1 and Spawn #2_ were a thing now; the sort of thing certain kinds of people would put up on matching t-shirts (come to think of it, Gucci did owe him a favour) and then make a big to-do about it at themed parties, even though according to the book he’d been reading (he’d downloaded several books on the subject of human gestation as soon as Daniel had handed back his phone) referring to it currently as some sort of simian larval stage might be more appropriate. Perhaps the Detective would have a preference. He’d ask her, once he got the chance. That part however was proving to be about as challenging as slipping out of a Hell loop.

After securing the arena his first priority had been removing the Detective to safety, which the waiting emergency vehicles aptly provided, along with the oxygen mask that made anything beyond succinct discourse impossible. Then there was the matter of the pharmaceuticals still in her system, compromising her usually direct cognitive capabilities until following the flow of any conversation proved to be questionable at best. This was on top of the head-splitting throby-part of the hangover which had manifested then with a terrible vengeance (he ignored it just as vengefully, although he wasn’t convinced the floor nurse hadn’t caught on, particular when she slipped him a couple Dilaudids the last time she stopped by; it almost made up for the over-share on that birthing story; almost). At least Chloe remained pleasantly unaware; at one point she even told him she thought his halo was pretty, which was absurd, because he didn’t have a halo, _he did not,_ that she was clearly still high on drugs and divinity, to which she’d patted his cheek and muffled something into her oxygen mask before drifting back into a shallow sleep. But anyways, Spawn – the first – had arrived with her father, to immediately be enveloped into her mother’s arms, after which point breakfast was forgotten and the two fell sound asleep sprawled together in the Detective’s bed. Dan muttered something about Mrs. Rodriguez’ lax directive on bedtimes and dog-sitting rates being extortionary (which also didn’t make any sense, because Daniel hated dogs) while sinking down onto the couch himself where he promptly toppled over. Maze, who arrived shortly after, ended up eating both breakfasts.

Which was fine, because whatever feeling this was sitting in his stomach was taking up all the space anyway, so he wasn’t even hungry after all.

He went to take another swig from the mug but realized it was empty. Very well, he could stop pretending to drink coffee and move on to the proper stuff. He fished another bottle from the back of the liquor cabinet, one he’d given with the intention of expanding the Detective’s tastes beyond the horrible cheap stuff she got with her groceries along with the added bonus of keeping the cabinet well-stocked for those occasions when he unexpectedly dropped by. He didn’t bother changing glasses, this was fine; drinking straight whiskey out of a mug was fine. He took a swallow. The Detective was fine and that’s what counted.

They’d given her a clean bill of health somewhere around 5 am, after they’d finally been seen by the sonographer. The hour before had grown increasingly quiet as adrenaline waned and exhaustion set in, but she seemed just as adamant that he not cause a scene on behalf of the poor excuse for service (but the _waiting!_ the Devil waited for no one– except on occasion the Detective, when she told him, firmly, to sit quietly and tell her again about the time Amenadiel flew into the bridge; he did love that story, but had begun to grow suspicious whether she really enjoyed it in equal ratio of her requests to hear it; he decided to mix things up by telling the one about Amenadiel’s failed venture into adult film instead, and that did elicit a small smile while she rested; it nearly made the waiting worth it).

The ultrasound itself was efficient. The technician consulted the charts and reiterated what the doctor expressed earlier – that while not ideal, the drugs seized were common anaesthetics and paralytics, the kind used in surgery, even during pregnancy. Chloe nodded concisely with each restatement, the way she did when confronted with a witness she wasn’t sure they could trust, but at the same time wanted to.

He watched her face instead of the proceedings. There were brief flickers that broke through, worry that creased her brow and kept her hands nervous and moving even when she clasped his. Of course it made perfect sense: she was concerned because the well-being of others was something she was so nauseatingly good at; even when the other was essentially a freeloading parasite who’d taken up residence without any kind of formal vetting or background check… which, had sounded better in his head, in retrospect, and he wasn’t entirely certain when he’d begun talking out loud, except it probably explained why she’d clamped her hand down so hard he practically yelped and was nearly inspired to remind her about the aspects of _his_ vulnerability except that her eyes were quite scary right then, when the technician, who’d been quietly doing things with the gel and the wand, abruptly tilted the screen towards them with a quiet smile– “We’re doing fine, mom and dad; heart rate is exactly where we want to see it, and while we’re not so active right now, that’s going to be normal for this time of night, even without the day you two just had.”

The technician went on to say further things, about blood-oxygen level and the sort of indicators they would expect to see with fetal distress … but her voice faded into a background burble, the image on the screen encompassing his world of view, shapes emerging from the play of light and shadow and formed before his eyes.

The sound Chloe made was small, mostly an exhale of soft, wavering breath. “You’re sure?”

“Yes ma’am,” she asserted with professional ease. “I will get you to schedule a follow-up with the ob-gyn later this week, just so we can continue tracking, but if _you’re_ feeling okay, then I’m certainly okay to tell you this little one’s feeling okay, too,” she tapped the monitor.

“Okay,” Chloe closed her eyes while she nodded; he felt her fingers tighten around his again and turned away from the screen. The image had fused in his brain anyhow, a small blotchy image that by the very nature of its vagueness allowed his mind to fill in the kind of things the ultrasound hadn’t, and spun while it tried to coalesce the enormity of this tiny presence with the suspiciously shaped blob on screen. It glimmered there, nestled like a hellpup curled and twitching in its sleep as it dreamed. It made him light-headed, and there was a fraction of a second where he seemed to think it was a good thing he was already sitting down.

He squeezed back, and then she looked up, giving him something to focus on that was familiar and he understood: here was his partner, by far the strongest and most perplexing person he’d ever met, and his feelings on this matter held no ambiguity at all.

“You doing okay, too?” she ventured.

“Splendidly,” he smoothly replied. “I’m doing splendid. Because you are. You’re okay. Everyone’s okay, the technician said so! So that’s _splendid._ And talk about dodging bullets, eh – twice even, in one day! I mean, besides the real one. Which was nicely dogged, by the way. But then there’s the obvious absence of horns and tail, so that’s splendid too. I’m speaking metaphorically of course. Because you know I _don’t..._ have... I mean, I’m splendid.”

“Yes you are,” Chloe smiled softly in a way that brightened the whole universe, while the technician fumbled the wand away and everyone ignored the clatter.

That had been several hours ago now, and it wasn’t quite ten o’clock, and the house was still asleep except for the demon; although, she’d slouched in her chair and wasn’t actually talking any more, but he wasn’t about to pop over and find out. He took another swig from his mug and pulled out his phone.

He almost called Linda. He hung up before it dialed, because he had no idea what he planned to say rather than any awareness of how this situation might impact her crisis (if he even remember she had one; in the defence of obliviousness, his failure could be construed as a good thing, at least in terms that it allowed him to focus on one existential crisis at a time; Dr. Linda would probably have appreciated that).

Instead, he opened up the ebooks and continued reading.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

One hour later there was a knock on the door, but Lucifer was too engrossed to notice.

Dan stirred partway in his sleep and nearly rolled off of the couch, which startled Maze awake enough to realize he wasn’t a threat to eliminate, having retrieved some kind of wide, curved sabre from the underside of the coffee table while still mostly asleep. She jabbed the point back into the tabletop with a stab of disappointment, which jolted Dan the rest of the way awake, but by that time she’d already made it to the door.

“You’re welcome,” she glared at Lucifer before she swung it open. He didn’t notice.

Ella was standing on the other side of the door looking like she hadn’t slept wink that night, or started the day with entirely too much caffeine, or maybe both. When she saw Maze, she froze on the spot, hand still raised in the knocking position.

“Ellen,” Maze greeted, and then tilted her head. “Are you… coming in?”

A sound happened, but it wasn’t exactly a word.

Maze rolled her eyes. “Whatever,” she left the door agape. “Ellen’s here, and she’s acting even weirder than usual.”

As she tromped off to her room, Dan rubbed the sleep from his eyes, glancing bemusedly at the clock before deciding nothing was going to make sense until after coffee. “Hey Ella,” he greeted on his way to the kitchen, giving Lucifer a clap on the back. The taller man straightened as if struck by God, which, maybe, was a bad metaphor given the last couple hours. “I’m gonna put on some more coffee, want some?” he offered in apology.

“Do you know what caffeine _does_ to a developing fetus? Even worse: seemingly innocuous deli meats! – the reality of which tease a sinister charcuterie tray roulette–”

“Right; see, Chloe did this exact same thing the first couple months, at least the first time through. I feel ya, bro. Just, whatever you do, don’t read the chapter on complications. Trust me. I’ll put the coffee on.”

“Complications?” he frowned. “As if this wasn’t complicated enough to begin with! For a species as prolific as you all are, I have no idea how any of you actually manage to reproduce at all… humans were clearly not one of Dad’s more efficient designs.”

Dan just shook his head, retrieved the regular coffee from cupboard where it had been tucked behind the decaf, and turned around again before he realized the door was still open yet Ella hadn’t budged. “Ella?” he frowned. “You need something? Coffee?” he shook the tin.

Ella blinked. “No. No, coffee no. No more coffee.”

“Alright,” he shrugged, and turned to put a pot on for himself.

Ella cross the threshold like a deer stepping out from the underbrush into the harrowing adversity of the wild. She took another deep breath and blew it out, muttering something quietly in what probably wasn’t english. Then she seemed to realize this was _not_ the way a normal person enters a room and quickly shut the door, turning from the foyer to occupants in the kitchen with full attention. Then she squeaked again.

“Morning, Miss Lopez,” Lucifer had returned to his screen, flipping back through the chapters with a complex expression on his face. “You wouldn’t happen to know if you are currently ovulating, would you? I’ve come across a preposterous theory here that begs debunking…”

She may have been about to say something, but that’s when Trixie came bounding down the stairs looking fresh and bright-eyed and by far the most well-rested of any of them there. “Ella!” she grinned blithely, going in for the hug (if she noticed Ella’s moment of blank confusion before hugging back, she politely ignored it). “Mom says she needs a few more minutes of R&R before she comes down, but boy, are we hungry – are you staying for breakfast?”

“The Detective’s hungry?” Lucifer was already on his feet, crossing towards the fridge as if his life’s purpose depended on it. “What do you think she’ll want? Though we’re out of eggs, thanks to Mazikeen, so I guess we’ll start with toast? Waffles? Crepes would have been lovely had we the eggs, english muffins–”

“I want waffles,” Trixie chirped.

He considered this. “I suppose if anyone’s to understand machinations of the germinal being and its influences over the host body during this gravid state, the child _would_ be the best qualified. Waffles it is! Do we have any – oh, strawberries!” he snatched them from the fridge.

Dan shook his head at the refrigerator, but gave in to the hug as his daughter scampered by; Trixie, still ignorant to the larger dialogue at play, was simply contented she was getting waffles out of the equation. And he was happy that she was happy, after how close everything had come to slipping away over night. That’s why he was still forcing the smile when he got a new text from Mrs. Rodriguez, something about the dog, and his couch, but that she thought a strategically placed doily would fix everything, and luckily she had one she would bring next time. He thought about answering. Instead, he glanced back at Ella. She hadn’t moved. He sighed. “Ella, what’s up.”

“Nothing!” she exclaimed, casually leaning into the railing, missing it, and sitting down on the stairs instead. “Nothing is up! But sky! Because that’s always up – blue sky, nothing but! Right there above us…”

Dan decided the coffee couldn’t brew fast enough.

The coffee machine topped off the pot just as the first waffle landed in Trixie’s plate. Somewhere from back of the cupboard a waffle maker had emerged, and shortly thereafter so had Maze, who could sense waffles happening from the next county over; she settled at the island beside the girl, and was currently arguing with Dan over whether Reese's Pieces qualified as a breakfast topping. Ella hadn’t moved from the stairs, and Lucifer was immune to distraction, jacket cast over a chair and sleeves rolled to his elbows, manning the iron with skilled proficiency and steel resolve. At last a plate was dressed to his satisfaction, two perfectly formed golden waffles and a cascade of strawberries, gently warmed over the pan with syrup and butter, topped with whipping cream and dusted with sugar to create a tenet of breakfast bliss.

“I suppose I’ll just pop this up to the Detective,” he said to the room at large. “She may be still resting, so I wouldn’t want to impose–”

“On it!” Ella exclaimed suddenly, leaping up and whisked the plate from his hands with a nearly audible _zoinking_ sound effect. She was bounding up the stairs and away before Lucifer had a chance to suss what had happened, left standing at the bottom and looking mostly bewildered.

“Mom’s still going to need her coffee,” Trixie supplied. “You can always bring her that. And coffee earns you _a lot_ of brownie points,” she added auspiciously.

Lucifer nodded tractably, feeling about as assertive as a shot of decaf as he fished the appropriate tin out of the cupboard. He supposed Miss Lopez would have a have good explanation, she usually did for even the most puzzling things. And a _real_ one, not the kind you shoved fancy pastries at when they rolled their eyes at you and – he froze, another realization dawning on him in sharp and vivid ardency. “I need Passion Flakies!”

This proclamation raised little more than curious looks from the kitchen, but that was no matter; he had his objective, there were things he needed to secure for the Detective, starting with the flakies, although the more he thought about it the more he realized this was barely the tip of the iceberg. A quick consultation with the internet confirmed his suspicions, bombarding him with a plethora of both useful and confusing products designed for every stage and parental whim. To be honest, he wasn’t sure what a good half of them were intended for, and the other half raised more questions than he’d started with, but he knew that fault lay firmly at his feet and he intended to remedy this, posthaste. He flipped back over to his e-reader.

Then he paused, and opened another app.

Flakies first; neglecting those would be remiss.

And, maybe a few of the other things – but just the ones that looked the most practical and intriguing.

At least to start.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

Chloe smushed her face against her pillow, wondering if the nausea was the sort that would settle itself if she ignored it long enough, or if she’d have to get up and do something about it. Her stomach felt emptier than it should be, despite what Lucifer had raided for her while at the hospital (she didn’t ask, but somehow one of his foragings had returned with six different flavours of Doritos from the vending machine and a nearly complete cheese pizza). At the same time, having her whole bed to herself again was bliss; not that she would give up a moment’s snuggling (braced as she was for the day Trixie declared herself too old for that kind of thing), but regardless of age, children in bed only obtained maximum comfort once the parent surrendered itself into mercilessly contorted arrangements to better accommodate said child’s surprisingly expansive form. She placed a hand on her stomach, musing wistfully over the prospect of uncounted uncomfortable nights ahead, and appreciated her pillow even more.

There was a knock at the door, followed by the tentative plea to enter.

She reined her focus back in, curiosity piqued. “Ella?”

The door opened, bringing with it a bevy of enticing breakfast smells, wrapping the small figure who bore them in an venerable cloak of immunity no matter what news she came baring.

“Hey, Chloe!” she greeted brightly enough. “Hope you’re feeling up to it, because this is one helluva fancy breakfast– oh God, that was a bad choice of words. I mean. It’s fitting, I guess? But maybe that’d completely out of line and _inappropriate,_ because you know… I mean, you KNOW, you know… I mean, you _do,_ right? Because this is about to get real awkward otherwise…”

Chloe sat the rest of the way up in bed. Ella was holding the tray forward and her hands were shaking, and this really should have been the focus of her concern, except her anxiety was fixed on whether or not she would drop the tray, because Chloe suspected that might break her. The waffles were speaking to her on every physical and emotional level and she needed them, now. At some point Ella must have made the connection too, because she brought them forward, and Chloe received the tray like a sacramental offering, inhaling deeply as she bowed. Sweet, buttery, she could practically smell every nuance of their perfectly crisp exterior… yes, this was undoubtedly the food of the gods, or at least of pregnant women carrying half-celestial progeny whose influences could not be entirely ruled out.

Eventually she even remembered Ella was there, still standing with her hands outstretched, almost imploringly. With effort, she set down the tray to clear an area of pillows for her to sit. She did stab a berry with fork while Ella shuffled; it was was bliss. “Is there something you want to talk about…?” she hazarded a guess.

Ella took another breath, then flumped herself down onto the offered piece of bed (Chloe grabbed the tray again as she did, settling it on her lap without upsetting a single berry). “Soooooo…” Ella began, casually drawing out the word into at least six syllables, arranging herself in to sit with legs crossed and resting elbows on her knees. She steepled her hands in front of her. “Remember how I told you I talk to ghosts?”

That conversation rang a bell, vaguely. “Yes?” she cut into the first golden disc.

“Yeah. Well, funny story. Turns out Rae-Rae… isn’t a ghost.”

“Your ghost has a name? I mean, your not-ghost.”

“Oh, she’s always had a name,” Ella assured. “But then I found out she had… secrets. And siblings. And a job.”

“Those are not the kind of things you’d expected from the not-ghost variety.”

“I know, right?” Ella hadn’t made eye contact. “Jobs! Like, I understood it in abstract, because that’s how you learn about them – title, and occupation; it’s what they _do…_ except for when they’re like running messages back forth for the Big Guy… But then, when it’s right in front of you, and you really start thinking about it – _hard_ – it stops making sense. Like, how does any of it make sense? Like – deciding to run a nightclub and work for the LAPD, all the while posing as a method actor who’s really an international spy! Chloe – _that doesn’t make any sense!”_

Chloe chewed the bite she was on and swallowed it, because nothing was going to take that away from her. Then she turned her full attention. “Ella, what exactly are we talking about here?”

Ella let out a sigh that resounded from the bottom of her toes. “Rae’s an angel.”

“Oh. Well, that connects a lot of the dots I was concerned about,” Chloe moved to another bite. She chewed and swallowed again before she spoke. “So wait, your not-ghost friend Rae-Rae is really an angel; when did you find out about all of this?”

“Last night.”

“Oh. OH. I mean. Yeah, okay. That’s really… a lot to take in all once.” She eyed the next waffle, and with more strength than she realized she had, put her fork down. “Are you okay?”

Ella shrugged. “I dunno. The more I think about it, the more I think I’m just really upset because she lied to me. Like, all this time! I mean, maybe this sounds stupid, but she’s my friend, y’know? …and some days, she made me feel like I was going crazy… Do you have _any_ idea what that’s like? And what’s probably the most whacked up about this is that in reality, ‘an angel hurt my feelings’ is probably the very _smallest_ part of this whole revelation.”

“Well, I might have gone through something… relatable…” she nodded slowly. “And no, I don’t think anything you’re feeling is small or insignificant. We can’t help the way we’re going to feel. When someone close to us tells us something… life-altering… it’s normal to feel confused, or, even betrayed. But what you _do_ with those feelings, and how we handle our reactions…” she put the tray aside, and folded her hands in her lap. “You know, I think you’re taking this really, really well.”

“Only because of _alllll_ those years of practice–” she tapped her noggin with a conspiratorial grin “–quieting the voices in my head. Which I thought was a ghost, but who then turns out to be an angel, but instead revealing some epic Joan of Arc-type life-defining crusade, turns out I’m still just _me,_ and the world doesn’t make any more sense, and now I’m here, babbling at you like a crazy person, and – _holy mother of angels_ , you’re having a real-live _actual_ -biblical direct-line-of-God _human-angel-baby!”_

“Mm-hmm,” Chloe nodded briskly, and decided there was no reason _not_ to dig into the second waffle. “Nobody’s put it in quite so many words before, but that’s... likely accurate.” It was quiet while she chewed, but she could feel Ella’s eyes boring into her. She looked up, her face forming the question.

“Do you know if it’s gonna have wings?” Ella queried.

“W-what?”

“Well, Lucifer has wings, right?”

“He… he does.”

“Have you seen them?”

“I have.”

“Are they nice?”

“Yes?” she canted her head to the side.

“I mean, I knew they had to be, because, let’s be honest, the _rest_ of him…” she elbowed Chloe, until she caught her expression. “–which I state from my entirely platonic and scientifically-motivated point of inquest! Unless divinity-curious is a thing? ‘Cause I mean, _both_ him and Amenadiel–”

“So you really know everything, then,” Chloe steered the conversation out of the weeds.

Ella considered the statement. “Well, I wouldn’t say _everything;_ I mean, what IS everything? Though Rae’s filled me in on a lot. I mean, I’ve still got _so_ many question, _SO MANY_ … and I had SO MUCH caffeine that I’m not convinced I can’t hear colour right now, but, overall…”

“And you’re still... _fine,_ knowing all this?” she studied her, her own face becoming perplexed. “Angels, and Heaven and Hell… Lucifer… being the Devil…?”

She snorted. “Hey, we all do crazy shit in our teens, right? Don’t get me started about mine.”

“Huh,” Chloe went back to chewing, slowly and methodically. She swallowed the bite again before she spoke. “Well, no wings on the ultrasound; no horns or tail either.”

Ella turned abruptly. “He _HAS_ that?!”

“Oh! No– no, no he does not. Absolutely not. Not like that. The stories get a lot of things wrong.”

“I feel that,” Ella nodded agreeably. “And I mean, Charlie doesn’t have any wings either…” and suddenly she straightened like rod. “OH FISHSTICKS!! I nearly forgot – I know where Charlie is!”

Chloe nearly choked on the last bite of waffle. “You do!”

“Yes! Rae has him!

 _“What?!_ Rae was one of the angels who–”

“No! NO! She has him _now._ He’s safe!”

Chloe breathed, letting the rest of the pieces slot into place once breakfast had made it down the right tube. “Wow; okay wow. I don’t know where to start. Thank goodness! Where’s Rae right now?”

“I dunno. She’s invisible.”

“That’s… not nearly the strangest thing to come out of this conversation. Alright. Let me get on this, Linda will be relieved, she and Amenadiel have been worried sick–”

“You can’t tell them, not yet!” she gasped, grabbing the other’s hand as she made to rise from the bed. Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper, and she pulled Chloe urgently close. “Rae’s got him hidden, which was what the other angels wanted her to do so Amenadiel couldn’t find him. Because of some big disagreement they had with Amenadiel for some reason? And something about a tree… you know it was this really long story at about 4am, so at that point I might have have lost some of the finer details along the way… But Rae says that while she has him, Charlie’s _also_ hidden from the rest of THEM, too, so… right now she’s the only one who knows where Charlie is. So he’s safe.”

“Wow,” said Chloe again, because that seemed like the only word to completely sum up the situation. She was still deprived of sleep, still a little nauseous, and her body wasn’t about to let her forget either of those things, but her cop-brain had activated and wouldn’t let little inconveniences like that get in the way of a case. She nodded, conceding reluctantly to the other’s appeal. She settled back against the headboard. “So if I’ve got this straight, Charlie’s safe, because Rae’s hiding him, but we can’t tell Amenadiel because… angels are watching? Can I ask why she wanted to let you in on all this?”

“Oh. Yeah – she didn’t know how to change a diaper. She tried, but it really wasn’t holding up well under fire. No Youtube in Heaven, apparently. Also, no babies too I guess? It almost sounded like angels don’t know anything about human babies, or almost, humans in general… which is kinda weird for angels, don’t you think?”

“No, actually… that sounds just about par,” she sighed.

“Also, she thought Lucifer might be able to help.”

“And there’s something we can work with.”

“I probably should’ve led with that, shouldn’t I?”

“In light of everything that’s happened this past night, I’ll give you a pass; we’re all moving a little slow on the uptake this morning.”

She returned the smile, small at first, but warming with intensity. “I’m so glad you’re okay; I should’ve led with that too. I’m _so sorry_ I didn’t figure it out sooner, it was literally right under my nose–”

“Ella,” Chloe stopped her, gently. “I heard, you still got the pieces together, and it put everyone on the right track. I can’t thank you enough for that, you all had my back.”

The hug was expected and jolting all at once, wrapping her in a mighty embrace. “You know we do!” she squeezed. “And let me guess – Lucifer went all _biblical_ on their asses, right? Because he can do that, right? Because now that I’ve built it up in my mind, if you tell me otherwise I’ll be disappointed…!”

“Well, if you count incinerating an arena, knocking the power out of five city blocks and putting the fear of actual God in the heart of a manic serial killer, then yes. I guess he did.”

“That is SO COOL,” Ella fawned, and Chloe could feel her cheeks colour under the preening. “I guess it doesn’t hurt having an angel and a… _mío Dios, un demonio…_ Maze is an actual demon. That just clicked, like, _really_ clicked, like, I kinda already knew it in the back of my mind…?” she weighed the information thoughtfully. “You know, that one doesn’t surprise me half as much as any of the others.”

“Never does,” Chloe shook her head in agreement.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

Maze tossed the dishes into the garbage with an artful flick of her wrist and called clean-up done. Then she turned to find Dan beside the counter with a look that threatened to ruin that strange, intangible high the act gave her; it was kinda like breaking someone’s knees, only with less screaming and mess coming out the other end. Her brows drew together and she squared her stance. “What? I live here, can’t I help out?”

“That’s… that’s not what I was going to say. Although– never mind, move aside,” he opened the disposal and retrieved the cereal bowls, crossing to the dishwasher without a word. Maze glared at him regardlessly. “I was just going to ask how you’re doing.”

“That’s even worse!” she snarked. “You don’t just come up to someone and _ask_ them how they’re doing!” Her teeth snapped, punctuating the point.

He decided he wasn’t going to touch that one, adding the cups to upper rack before he closed the machine. “Fine,” he turned instead. “I never said a thing.”

The parking lot to the rec centre had been lit like a Christmas tree when he’d pulled in, a profusion of red and blue flashing lights, shining like a beacon amidst the darkened blocks he’d passed on the way in. They weren’t letting anyone inside on account of the fire, but that sort of thing had never stopped him before.

He’d made his way around the building, out of the scrutiny of strobing lights where night quickly swallowed him. The smoke was thick, the building just as dark on the inside, the windows blown out like gaping teeth in a wicked grin. He’d tried the first door and found it locked, so the window made do, brushing the shards of loose glass away with the back of his sleeve to haul himself inside. Muddy darkness, thick and dense, affronted his senses. It was a risk, perhaps even a careless one, but it hadn’t mattered. His thoughts were on his daughter, and Chloe, and he’d known then the best thing he could do for his daughter was to make sure Chloe made it out alright. That was the best he could ever do, and he’d be damned if let them down now. He covered his mouth with his sleeve to swallow a cough, smoke burning his nostrils even as he kept low.

Maze, he’d found by accident.

He’d heard sounds, low, unearthly sounds that sent the hairs on his neck rising when he realized they were human. In the shadows he saw a figure sprawl, struck down by the shadows and left to spill over the floor like a dancer folding into a deep bow. Then the shadow pounced, scooping the fallen man up by the scruff of his collar to toss him against the wall, a karambit flashing as she lodged it through his good hand and pinned him there. “Gotcha.” In the half-lit gloom her grin curled like her blade. She ignored the sounds he made as she wrenched the broken arm into place, the crushed hand yielding to her second blade like softened fruit.

Dan hadn’t moved, but she knew he was there. “This is the one who took Chloe,” she leered. “And killed those other women. Now he and I are gonna get to know each other real well…”

“So you’re just–?”

“Gonna torture him? Oh yeah,” she wet her lips. “You don’t have a problem with that.”

He paused. “Not like I’m going to tell you how to do your job.”

She made a snort of approval as she returned her focus to her work. “And I’m _damn_ good at my job,” she kicked the man’s knees out from under him, delighting in the sounds of anguish that peeled from his throat. She drank it in, the smell of fear, that reek of Hell that warmed her senses and made her feel the most alive. She drove her elbow against his chest while she contemplated the pulse tripling at his neck. She wanted to break it, but this called for restraint. Because she was damn good at her job. “For a thousand years, I was the best that Hell had ever seen. I could break pretty much anyone,” she struck again, this time her movement jagged, striking low and causing him to scream. “I taught them what it was to regret, to feel nothing but anguish and understand despair as a base element, born out of a daring merely to exist. I did that, and I was damn good at what I did.”

Her moves were swift and devastating, harsh blows that punctuated her speech. “And yet, Lucifer just calls me to clean up his messes,” she landed another, “and finish what he started, and take out his trash; I might as well _still_ be his personal slave.”

“Oh, Lucifer disregarding people? Welcome to the club.”

“I don’t even care!” she growled, yanking the blade from the wall and giving the man a brief reprise, a cunning form of torture in itself. “’Cause I don’t need him; I don’t need _anyone.”_

The curved point hovered inches from Dan’s throat; in the darkness he could smell the blood. “Never said you did.” She returned to face the wall with one arm pinning the body in place. Her knife spun between her fingers in restless arcs that didn’t land. “But,” he continued, his hands spreading into a neutral position, “I don’t think even _you_ are that mad at Derry over there.”

She considered the prospect. Then kneed him in the groin, just because she hadn’t yet. Her knife pulled free and she stepped back to watch him slump to the ground, the sound he made both slurred and diminishing. “You’re right, I’m over it.”

The knives whispered as she cleaned the blades against her pant and sheathed them, stepping over the body to land beside him with a lax awareness of personal space. Her breath was hot against his ear where she pressed, directing his gaze to her handiwork. “Was still fun while it lasted. And, I _totally_ I still got it.”

He’d winced at that last infliction in spite of himself and very carefully pulled away. “You’ve absolutely got something.” He couldn’t make out her expression in the smokey gloom. Neither said anything further.

He closed the dishwasher door and turned to the sink, rinsing his hands, quite aware that she was still glaring quietly when the coffee maker beeped again. “That’s the decaf,” he looked up. “Lucifer, the coffee.”

The man hadn’t touched the waffle he’d plated for himself, even after Trixie drew a butterfly on it in graceful swirls of chocolate syrup. He was bent over his phone, his features drawn and pensive.

Dan sighed. “What are you reading now?”

“Oh… uh, _Molecular and Morphological Studies of Folliculogenesis, Oocyte Maturation and Embryogenesis in Humans.”_

“Dude, most people just start with _‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’_...”

Lucifer considered this, and switched between apps again.

Dan ignored the half dozen other comments that sprung to mind and grabbed a new mug, pouring the coffee. “Chloe’s gonna have _so_ many questions…”

The other sat abruptly straighter. “You’re right! She will! _So_ many questions… and I’ll have to answer them… however I can…” A new unease sprung into being and he rose to his feet, considering the options before him. He almost called for Amenadiel – almost – but on further reflection realized this wasn’t remotely the same circumstances and he required better counsel. He excused himself from the table and was out the door, stating matters of otherworldly importance.

In response Dan only shook his head while he poured cream and sugar into the mug; his eyes cast skyward briefly, but whether it was intended towards Chloe’s room or something more widely acknowledged as divine was left up to interpretation.

Trixie had settled on the couch with a comic book, and Dan took heart in that tranquil scene on his way up the stairs. He met Ella in the halfway with the tray, looking more like her usual, chipper self, although she did pause briefly, begin twice to say something, then continued on without rendering a word. At this point Dan didn’t even try to understand.

Chloe he found outside her bedroom door still garbed in frumpy pyjamas. She looked tired, but very much alive and well, and her eyes brightened at the sight of the cup. “How you feeling?” he smiled, passing it to her.

“Better now,” she buried face into the mug and breathed, pretending with all her might that it was regular coffee; she drank it anyways and was just as thankful. “How’s Trixie?”

“She’s reading, she seems okay about things? I’m sorry, I don’t know how much she must’ve overheard last night…”

“Not your fault,” she shook her head.

“Not yours either,” he frowned.

She sighed. “We’d better talk to her. It’s just… after what happened with Charlie, and now this… maybe we should ask Linda about that children’s psychologist.”

“Probably not a bad idea,” he agreed. “Especially when there are going to be more… life changes incoming,” he glanced down at her midsection politely, then his phone beeped. He saw who the text was from and his face contorted; Chloe looked at him curiously.

“Speaking of life changes,” he swallowed, “so, we have a dog now.”

Her face blanked “What…?”

“Yeah. Well. Trixie found this stray, and one thing led to another and now it’s in my apartment and eating my couch and I’m really not sure it isn’t part coyote… but Trixie’s really good with it, so I told her it can stay – just until we find it’s owners…”

Her face hadn’t changed. Dan shrugged. “His name’s Bear.”

Chloe’s brain finally caught up with the information “Dan,” she looked at him directly. “You know this means you have dog now, right?”

His face deflated. “…shit.”

The laughter was entirely at his expense, but he didn’t really mind. “Anyhow, I can take Trixie again tonight to get the dog settled, and bring her bring back tomorrow after the day camp. Gives you some time to rest, and maybe, talk things over…”

Her brows creased. “Where is Lucifer?”

“I believe ‘matters of otherworldly importance’ were his exact words.”

She nodded with practised impassivity. “Hmm.”

Dan leaned over and gave her arm a squeeze. “He’s definitely crazy, but, still crazy about you.”

“Thank you,” she said into her mug. “For the coffee. And everything else.”

He grinned again, turning. “What else am I gonna do?” and he headed back towards the stairs.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

Ella made it all the way into the kitchen before she had another existential crisis.

In the kitchen, the demon was pouring vodka into her ice cream.

Which was fine. _Totally_ fine. Not even in her Top Five Weirdest Things (that top spot was still held unchallenged by Uncle Luis).

So Maze was demon. So what? And Rae was an angel. And Lucifer was literally the God-dammed ruler of Hell. It was all about perspective, really. Because the world was completely the same as it had been the day before. Nope, _THIS CHANGED NOTHING._

She was certain if she kept saying that last part often enough, it would become true.

“‘Sup,” said Maze. “You still being weird?”

“Uh huh,” she shook her head.

“Ugh, this is too much peopling today,” Maze collected her bowl and retreated back into her room, the door slamming behind her.

Ella set the tray on the counter then sat down herself, staring at the half-forgotten remnants of waffles and life in general. It was like a metaphor, except it didn’t make the world any clearer. The bowl of Reese's Pieces was sitting in the midst of the mess and she pulled it towards herself, crunching in the silence. When the front door opened she didn’t even stir as Lucifer came blustering back in, appearing no more accomplished than he had when he’d left five minutes earlier, and stood motionless for several seconds before retreating to his spot at the table across from her. “Bollocks,” he declared to no one in particular.

“Reese’s?” she indicated the bowl.

Never one to refuse a snack, he collected a handful, popping them with mastered ease. “Apparently, despite his street cred, Juan from the taco truck down the lane was not altogether truthful when he claimed the title ‘The Guy with All the Answers’… I realize it was a bit of a long shot, but in reflection was probably a waste of a perfectly good favour. I did get a congratulatory taco out of it, although I am not quite sure what he was congratulating me for?” He folded his elbows on the table. “Miss Lopez, may I ask you something?”

She stirred. “You… want to ask me something? _Me?_ Ella Sofía Leocadia Alejandra Lopez, the nerdy lab tech with a chicken who speaks Klingon from Detroit…”

“Yes, that sounds like you, unless it’s the chicken who’s now speaking in tongues? Because that would be aberrant.” His drew his brows together, observing her as a means of distraction but finding something more. “Has… something happened…? It has, hasn’t it. It’s probably my fault, undoubtedly, something for which I was ruefully unaware yet the responsibility indubitably falls solely on my my person. Well, let’s hear it out.”

The Devil looked at her with concern. The Devil who was waiting on her answer, and from the expression on his face might not have been holding things together as confidently as he let on. The Devil, an immortal being whose existence stretched from the beginning of time and whose stories wound through every fabric of her culture, which raised more questions than it answered, and whose reach and experience was beyond anything she could comprehend; who always insisted that he be viewed through the same lens as everyone else lest prejudices interpose, who let one's actions speak for themselves in the pursuit of righteousness. The more she tried to make sense of it, the more it slid away, unattainable. How could she, Ella Lopez, deal with _that,_ sitting across the table?

The Devil who was Lucifer, also an angel, Rae’s favourite brother, and always brought her favourite snacks to the lab and knew which sci-fi series she was binge'ing on that week, even if he never admitted to watching them.

 _Faith, Ella,_ the words settled, bringing her mind quiet. _You’ve gotta have faith._

“I had a tough night,” she breathed out in a woosh.

“There certainly seems to be its share of that going around,” he settled, wishing he hadn’t put his phone away, or that smoking hadn’t gone so rapidly out of fashion, because he desperately wanted something to do with hands.

“Yeah… but, we all made it through. Oh! Even Palmer! I called in this morning. He’s not out of the woods yet by any means, and the next couple days will be touch-and-go, but, he’s a fighter.” She eased into a burgeoning smile, and it warmed them both. “But no, it’s not your fault. Some things… just happen. And then we figure it out from there. I mean, nobody really has _all_ the answers.”

“Certainly not Juan,” he sighed.

She grinned. “I can try, but I can’t promise I’ll answer any better.”

“You know,” he tilted his head thoughtfully. “I think you may have given me an answer already.”

Movement caught his attention and he turned to spot Dan returning from the stairs, and his brows instantly furrowed again. “What were you doing up there?” his voice lifted with the accusation.

“Bringing Chloe her coffee. Which you’d–”

“Those were suppose to be _my_ brownie points!” he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “Now what am I supposed to bring the Detective?!”

“You could just go–”

“Ah-ha!” Lucifer snatched the bowl of Reese's Pieces from Ella’s embrace, touting them up with an exaggerated flourish as he backed towards the stairs with his prize. “The Detective _loves_ the wildly complimentary flavours of peanut butter and chocolate together, coated in a crisp, candy shell!” He paused once more as if daring either of them to challenge his avowal, and when there was none, could only nod briskly and carry on up the stairs.

Dan looked at Ella. But Ella was grinning rather sloppily. Which was way better than where they started, so Dan continued with his mantra of the day and let it be

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

Chloe was just contemplating clothes when the bedroom door swung open and Lucifer strode through, his face set and determined as he clutched a bowl of candy to his chest and pushed the door decisively shut behind him.

“I brought you snacks,” he said, proffering the bowl towards her.

She took them, because for some reason they seemed important, and set them in her lap. “Thank you,” she smiled warmly. “Breakfast was wonderful, too.”

“It was? Oh, it was. Yes, that wasn’t a question,” he was nodding rapidly. “But, I know you have a lot of questions, and that's expected. And I believe I may have the answer to those questions."

"You do?" she looked almost suspicious.

"Yes!" he held two fingers up for pause.

She did. Mostly, because she was just really curious to see where this was going.

"Miracle eggs," he said, with air quotes.

Her mouth opened. But then she closed it again. Instead, her head tilted. "What are we talking about now?"

"Well, as you know, celestials and humans... don't… Normally. As we know. And I for one _should_ know, as I've been with– let's just say we're working with a very substantial sample pool. So it's something that simply doesn't happened and frankly, I didn't think could happen, so by all means the outlier must rest with–"

"Oh," she caught up to him. "We're talking about the–"

"Yes! That. _That_ is what we're talking about," he started pacing. "So I think–"

"Lucifer," she sighed, but gently. "It's really not that complicated."

"We can agree to disagree," he decided.

"Then what about Charlie?"

"What about Charlie?" he came fullstop.

"Last time I checked, Linda's still human, and Amenadiel–"

"–is an idiot, and had rendered himself dramatically mortal at the time. Neither of which apply in any way to me," he turned to her.

Chloe clamped her mouth shut and just hummed.

"So Charlie's existence can be explained away with good old-fashioned sex-ed 101 because there was nothing celestial-y going on at the time. But this–" he took a step forward with a nearly confident rendition of his usual swagger. "This is clearly because of your crafty, divinity-nulling miraculous eggs."

She took a deep breath and breathed it all the way out before she spoke. "My what now?"

"Miracle eggs," he repeated.

"Miracle eggs," she said slowly.

He waited eagerly for some kind of reaction. She took another breath.

"Lucifer, I don't have... miracle eggs."

"Yes, you do."

"Alright, entertaining that, _just_ for the sake of having this conversation, in chance of some crazy, paralleled universe existing in which I _do,_ it was still your little celestial swimmers who couldn't stop _poking_ at them and leaving well-enough alone."

"Oh,” he came to a stop again. “I suppose that's also true, when you put that way. Rather on brand, actually. Right then. Although–"

"Lucifer," she put the bowl down and reached out to him, taking his hands and carefully drawing him near. She sighed, waiting for his full attention. "This isn't some divine prophecy or mythic foretelling. I mean, it’s _not,_ right?” she took his maintained silence as affirmation. “It’s just a normal… unexpected… human. angel. baby…” her words slowed to a halt. “That may have… given me superpowers, by the way."

His expression hung. "Wh– _what?"_

"So that's not normal, huh?"

"You're the one who keeps insisting any of this is normal!" he was still looking at her with a glazed expression. "What… what kind of powers?"

"Well, maybe… inhumanly-fast healing abilities? And also my metabolism, like, when they tried to drug me, and it wasn't working properly? But then when they tested the drugs at the hospital and they were normal. So, maybe, that’s what was happening there."

He was actually looking a little faint and she wondered if he'd listen if she told him to sit. He was nodding his head slowly. "That does sound somewhat suspect."

"Yeah," she breathed. "Although the other thing–"

"Oh, of course; there's more…"

"–it's almost like having a heightened awareness of my surroundings? The first couple times I thought it was coincidence, or I was just being loopy, because _you_ know, pregnancy brain…"

"I really don't."

"So, right. That's all just really weird, then," she nodded curtly, feeling the swell of uncertainty begin invade all those dark crevices where worry waited in the wings to pounce. "I just thought you might have some idea. Since, I thought, it sounds similar to how your powers work with you, right?"

"Because I'm an angel, yes, normally it does."

"Except when you're around me; I know, I make you vulnerable.” She let out her breath in a rush, taking a moment to pull together the muddled mess inside her head into something that resembled a coherent thought. “I was also thinking about that too. I mean, if it's actually the case and I make you mortal, then how different is it to what happened with your brother? Because if angels self-actualize, then it could really be that simple. That this," she placed her other hand over her midsection. "also happened the old-fashioned way, no miracles involved."

"Eh, well…" he began to draw back again.

Her grip tightened, her eyes levelled on him. "I know you're quietly freaking out right now, and that's okay. That would be a normal reaction even if it wasn't for all these crazy implications we have to work out. But you know, we're stronger together. Facing this, together. We just both need to stay on the same page."

He looked down at their hands, their fingers entwined. He squeezed, gently, and she squeezed back. "I know. I want to; and I'm trying."

"I know, and I'm so proud... of us," she gave him a trembling smile. "So, going forward, let’s have everything on the table, completely open, no secrets, no more trying to figure out the divine meaning of the universe all alone. And what we still don't know after that, we'll figure out together."

He released the breath he was holding. "You're the miracle."

"Lucifer," she groaned.

"You… _are!"_ he was immediately on his feet and pacing again, this time driven with renewed fervour. "You see, my Father… He sent Amenadiel down to deliver a blessing to your mum, so that your parents could have a child, who, as it turns out, is you, so that 35 years later you walk into my bar, and… here we are."

She was facing him with a blank stare. He came slowly to a stop again, not quite meeting her eyes. "I know that's a lot to take in," he sighed miserably, "and this is probably not providing answers insomuch as creating entirely new questions, and you probably have a lot more of them still to go. Detective?" he finished, because she still hadn't moved to say anything. Well, that wasn’t ideal. He braced himself carefully, watching for tiny signs of receipt as she digested the news. _There, I've gone and done it. I've truly broken the Detective, like everything else._

Slowly, she blinked. "So… what you're saying… God… is my father? Wait, does that mean I'm… like Jesus? No, wait–" her other hand clamped her belly "–Mary? …oh God, _are we related...?!"_

"No! _no…_ all of that, and _that's_ what your take away is? Dad – mine, _NOT_ yours – simply made sure that you would be born; a not-so-random factor in an ever chaotic and random world – so that He… could put you in my path."

"Put me in your path…" she parroted slowly. "What does that even mean?"

He released another breath he hadn’t realized he’d held. "Father is nothing if not bloody consistent in His torments, befitting of His godly paradox of being both entirely absent and meddling in every single aspect of my existence simultaneously… Nor was He simply content to meddle in my life, but yours, too. As far as putting you here, for me to meet–"

"For you? What, so like, we were destined meet? And, _more?_ Like, _everything?"_ her expression expanded as her voice rose. "Our entire relationship? Falling in love? This–” her hand covered her belly again, splaying protectively, _“–this was all planned?"_

"No! I don't know… I don’t think so? I don't really know, I _don't,”_ his head hung, staring into his clutched hands as if he would grasp for meaning with them if he could. “I wish I did… but you don’t know my Father… He remains remarkably tight lipped about His reason for doing anything, so everyone's left to blindly guess at what any of it really means. And, while it may be difficult to entirely relate, I do understand something of what you're going through. It took me some time to come to terms with it, too."

She nodded carefully, digesting things. "Wait...how long have you known?"

He stilled, but the memories sifted to the surface unbidden, of old fears, old injuries, still surprisingly acute and sensitive to the touch. He surrendered, defeatedly; few memories were worse than this. "I found out the night you were poisoned. Courtesy of my Mum, and let's just say it wasn't a very good night for anyone."

"Oh," she said very quietly. "That was a pretty bad night."

"Yes. On top of being faced with the prospect of losing… you… ‘twas coming to terms with the notion that everything I perceived as true and significant could have been part of another grand-scale manipulation... that every feeling – it's very meaning – was some fabrication… It rather takes the wind of a person."

She was quiet again for a long while, her eyes down. "So what you're saying," she had slowly begun creeping up against the backboard, blinking rapidly. "That everything… all our feelings... aren’t even... real?"

"No– _no!"_ realization lit in him like an alarm klaxon. "Chloe, it’s real. Very real. And even if it began in some convoluted fashion, and progressed with elaborately perplexing partialities that likely baffled anyone beyond us, we… _we_ did that all ourselves. For what it’s worth.”

His hands trembled at his sides, as if he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with them, caught between the urge to push forward and to retreat a very far distance away. He continued, his voice low. “I do understand where the doubt is coming from, because at the beginning I wasn't sure either. I was afraid you didn't have a choice, and that was something I couldn't abide by, not for you. You mean far too much to me to have ever entertained subjecting myself on your person if I didn't think you had complete choice in the matter. There is nothing I value more than that. That’s why I made sure when I came back from Vegas that I gave your choice back to you–"

"Vegas? hold up," she straightened, fear giving way to the accessibility of anger, igniting like roused coals that hadn’t ever quite died out. "Are you saying that that whole… Vegas escapade… was your crazy, convoluted way of determining if I had free will?"

"Yes!" he hooted in relief.

The pillow took him by surprise upside of the head but he managed to catch it, turning in time to see the book from her nightstand come flying hither, followed closely by the lamp. He ducked the book, leveraging the pillow for deflection and wincing at the smash as he tripped over the laundry chair and abruptly sat down. He found his bearings in time to see her poised on the edge of the bed with the clock radio. "Detective!" he signalled defeat.

 _"You. Broke. My. Heart,"_ she seethed at him. "Do you even have _any_ idea how that feels?!"

He looked at her, old pain cut fresh and streaming down her cheeks, old misunderstandings and words not said, of opportunities missed and moments lost, reflecting back to him with every fleeting beat of his heart. _"Yes,"_ breathed.

She let the clock fall on the bedside, using both hands to wipe her face and push the hair back behind her ears. She wasn't really sure what she wanted in that moment, but of all the thoughts and feelings that scrambled through her head, she realized none of them involved bashing his head in with an alarm clock. She nodded slowly, a wordless apology, and sunk back down onto her knees. "Okay," she softly said.

He was still holding the pillow in front of him, but it lowered.

"Say I'm a miracle. That your Father ‘put me in your path’. And that’s the reason for this whole celestial circus that's become my life."

"Particularly if you consider Pierce one of the clowns–"

"I'm still just an ordinary human?" she ignored his comment.

He nodded easily. "Yes. Though with the uncanny ability to resist all of my devilish charms and render me vulnerable to mortal instruments."

"That really doesn't sound like much fun for you."

"I beg to differ."

She sighed. She looked at him, still clutching the pillow to his chest in defence, this immortal creature who could burn with the terrible fires of creation and put the fear of God into simple men, and in the next moment radiate with such tenderness and regard. He was a paradox, and apparently, so was this, and here they were thrown in together for reasons beyond both their ken. Reasons would always be cheap and and plentiful. "This is a lot to take in."

He nodded again, casting his gaze down. "I understand. You need to process. Right. Well, whatever you need you shall have, just say the word. Think of me as your personal wish-granting devil. Devil-genie. Oh, a _djinn!_ And I mean anything – time, space, snacks, Passion Flakies… Miss Lopez seemed to indicate those were important, so I've ordered five hundred boxes, do you think that will do?"

"Lucifer…"

"No, you’re right, that was foolish of me, I'll get more–"

"Lucifer," she reached out again, indicating the spot on the bed beside her. “Sit.”

He did, seating himself neatly on the edge, except that then she move further in to allow him more space. With silent resolve he pulled his feet up to settled carefully beside her. Easily she nestled into the hollow of his arm against his side, feeling the tension ease from him, melting like a spring frost and giving way to tempered ground. Her arm settled across his waist, and she felt the favour returned as he slipped around her back to draw her closer. She inhaled deeply, familiar scents of smoke, the rich fougère of his cologne and something she could never identify but found herself wondering suddenly what stardust smelled like. “Lucifer,” she breathed. “Right now, this is all I need.”

His cheek came to rest ever so lightly against her hair. “Well if that’s the case, you should know you’re terrible at making bargains.”

“Mmm. What more would you have gone for?”

“For starters? Oh, insist upon someone who has some sort of clue about what to do next, bartering down to base-level competency, and holding out for sheer enthusiasm at bare minimum.”

She tilted her head back so she could see his face, gazing down, still a puzzled mess of worry and self-doubt. “Being here, that counts,” she smiled.

He met her eyes briefly before casting them away. “I suppose that’s one up on my Father.”

“You know, a wise person once told me we don’t all turn into our parents. I think that was you, but I was also _really_ drunk at the time.”

He laughed, short but bright. _He’s always been the brightest thing in the room,_ she mused; another simple truth, a certainty to take heart. She leaned into him, relishing his warmth, but her focus remained outwards.

“I’m sorry you had such a rough time with your Dad. I’ll probably never understand everything that happened between you two, but I am sorry that he hurt you. And you’re right, I don’t know him. But I do know you. And you are brave, and passionate, and concerned about sorting out what’s right from wrong and upholding those values you see as true. And the people you care about, you’d go to Hell and back for,” she tightened the fingers on his sleeve. “Yeah, sometimes you don’t always get it right, but, you keep trying. That’s all anyone can do. That’s what makes you a good person, and those same qualities are what makes a good father, too.”

He found there were times her eyes seemed to shift in colour, morphing from those vibrant, ocean blues to the enigmatic green of dusky earth before fading like the sky into grey. It was as if they held the elements suspended within them, a reflection of the realms in microcosm. They reminded him of every blue his wings embraced in open sky, of the obscurant parts of heaven he half-remembered, like his mother’s smile, when he had been happy there, and of Hell, the roving brume of grey that covered everything in the sombrous, velveted tones of regret.

As yet, as much as each realms had differed, they had been more alike than he cared to admit.

None of them had ever felt like home.

None had ever given him anything of significance, a connection to something meaningful outside of himself.

That there could be something he would want to give himself to, to fall for again, choosing to become vulnerable with because the alternative – of living without – was inconceivable.

Somehow, she had given him all of that, willingly, expecting nothing in return.

She took the hand he rested tentatively at her elbow and brought it forwards, pulling him against herself until it was pressed firmly on top her abdomen. His eyes hadn’t left hers, fixed and given over to her behest. She drew her breath slowly, ignoring her heart that beat like an army of tiny hummingbird wings and offered a gentle smile. “Still with me?”

His fingers spread, encircling the area beneath where another sort of conception had taken hold, as equally unexpected and unknown. His child – their child – another thing they had inexplicably arrived at together, that didn’t make sense, that he’d hadn’t asked for, that he hadn’t known he wanted…

… did he want this?

He only knew he didn’t want to lose this, _any_ of this.

“I am,” he answered her, and marvelled at the way her face lit when he did, as once his words were instruments that lit the stars, though the stars had never been half so beautiful. She smiled, her eyes soft and gleaming, an ensphering and oceanus calm that settled everything within himself into place. “I’m here,” he said, and he meant it with every cell of his immortal being.

And as he did, another certainty bloomed, one he was less assured of but grew with a bold sort of reckless determination.

He was never going back to Hell.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

“I don’t hear anything now,” Trixie relayed.

“But that was definitely the lamp,” Ella quantified.

“Maybe,” she shrugged dismissively.

“And not the _fun_ kind of lamp-breaking,” Maze deducted.

“Maze,” Dan admonished from the kitchen where he was absolutely not listening in.

Trixie shrugged again. “All they talked about was egg salad, Lucifer’s dad, and Vegas.”

“Vegas,” Ella shuddered. “Nothing good ever comes out of Vegas.”

The demon picked herself up from the stairs, where she and Ella were crouched behind Trixie who was most of the way to the top. “Well, that’s disappointing.”

“But not totally unsurprising,” Ella sighed.

Maze huffed. “You’d think after all this time there’d be less of the talking and more–”

“You guys,” Dan gestured his hand to Trixie, still poised and listening, who rolled her eyes.

“Dad, I’ve known about that stuff _for years.”_

“You know, when I was that age–” Ella began.

“Oh, are we exchanging first time stories?” Maze perked. “Because I literally consumed this–”

“No!” Dan threw his hands up. “Trix! Come on, we’re going!”

Trixie considered a moment of protest, then changed her mind as if remembering something even more important and scrambled down the stairs.

“And you two,” Dan turned to the others as the child ducked into the bedroom to fetch her bag, “...full disclosure, right?”

“That’s why we’re taking bets,” Ella grinned, and went to fist-bump Maze, who left her hanging with an acutely feline look of disgust.

“Dad, hurry up – Bear’s waiting,” the girl was scampering to the door, hands full with both her knapsack and books, and an armful of stuffed animals that had been selected sacrificially. “He hasn’t seen me in _hours_ and is probably really confused – I have to explain to him what’s going on so he doesn’t think we’ve abandoned him – _forever!”_

Dan made a perplexing expression before he turned, but had zeroed it back to neutral by the time he faced her. “Of course, monkey; we can’t let that happen,” he let her lead the way out the door.

“When did Dan get a dog?” Ella frowned into the subsequent silence that followed. “I thought he hated dogs.”

“Dunno, some kind of self-flagellation?” Maze considered thoughtfully. “Kinda hot. Still pathetic, because it’s Dan, but hot.”

“How did I never realize you were a demon?” the other shook her head.

The demon looked at her as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Because you’re _you,_ Ellen,” she said and dismissed herself vaingloriously.

“It’s still Ella,” she started, but was already alone, and, if she was being completely honest, wondered if it even mattered anyway.

Then again, maybe it was like faith, because she found the more she discovered, the more there was to wonder about – the questions didn't become pointless, they didn’t run out, they just got _bigger_ – and faith was what threaded between them all and anchored her here.

She was still Ella, and still here; in that she had complete Faith, and that was all she needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope, that assertion's not coming back to bite anyone in the butt...
> 
> Also, I think in general people take better to divinity revelations when they see pretty wings first instead of a devil-face? And I did take the liberty of Ella's middle names, but they are all keenly chosen - Ella Sofía Leocadia Alejandra - Wisdom, Light, and the Helper of Mankind. Which I think Ella is, so there. 
> 
> But yay for the chapter where _everyone finally talks!_


	16. Small Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: a short end-cap was added to the *last* chapter. Just in case you missed it!

_“Ella.”_

The word settled, tickling that part of consciousness where even deep in the salve of sleep she recognized its significance. “Mfffph,” she mumbled, feigning ignorance. “Not finished yet.”

“Yes,” said the voice, sounding both dry and melodic; adept, like Angela Lansbury reruns. “That is exactly the matter of importance that you must awake for.”

Ella tried to ignore it further but it did sound very near, and as awareness sloshed over and melted the last of her resistance she began to wonder if this was something she should be concerned about. Bracing, she opened an eye.

Margaret, who was sitting squarely on her chest, burbled approvingly. “Much better!”

“Oh no. No, _no_ – not you too!” Ella clamped the eye shut again, moaning.

_“Ella.”_

“I just need one thing to stay normal. ONE THING! Is that too much to ask?!”

“I thought we determined some time ago that normal’s overrated,” the hen chuckled. “Besides, in light of everything else that has transpired, surely this is not the hill you choose to die on?”

“I just found out my best ghost-friend is actually the Angel of Death; can we not mention that d-word right now.”

“Touché. Shall we talk about one of the others, then?”

Ella tried to move so that she could roll back into sleep but the chicken on her chest was having none of it. “Devil? Demon? Oh - _destiny!_ That’s a very good one. Doomsday, demiurge, dogma, delirium–”

“Is this really what goes on in your head?” she sighed.

“I wouldn’t know,” she considered, her beak cocked to the side. “I’m not really Margaret. I’m a figment of your mind trying to deal with everything in the most palatable way possible; conjuring up a guiding Spirit-Chicken is entirely of your own doing.”

“That… makes sense actually,” Ella sank back into the blanket. “Doesn’t make me feel much better though–”

_“Ella…”_

“–like, one minute I’m there, cleaning your coop, the next minute Rae shows up and is all ‘hey girlfriend, so I need you to help with this one small thing – _covert angel-baby kidnapping!_ But we’re kidnapping him from the kidnappers, so it’s all good’… except the kidnappers are also angels so that’s just all shades of cray-cray, and I’m all like, come on, I’m from Detroit, not Florida, how messed up do you think I am to believe I _could?”_

Margaret smiled. Ella hadn’t realized that was possible, since she didn’t have lips. “Your friends obviously think highly of you, and I wouldn’t dismiss that so quickly. And we are not given challenges without the means to meet them, even if it can be uncomfortable until we do.”

“I’m talking to a Spirit Chicken. I think personal comfort and dignity got tossed a while ago.”

“Very good,” she rose to her feet with a brisk flap of rust-coloured wings. “You should wake up now.”

“What?” she frowned in confusion.

**_“ELLA!”_ **

She woke again with a jolt, for real this time.

“See?” Maze turned to Chloe. “You can’t coddle these things.”

Chloe just gave her a look, returning her full attention to the woman on her couch. “Sorry. Didn’t want to wake you, but we’re working with a lot of variables right now…”

Ella blinked, discovering she was still in Chloe’s living room with no chickens of any sort to be seen. “I didn’t even mean to sleep,” she sighed, glancing at her watch; it was just after noon. Chloe was still in pyjamas, but despite the obvious fatigue she’d thrown on a housecoat and had that look on her face Ella knew well. “You know _you_ have the day off today, right? One of the few perks that comes with being abducted?”

Lucifer was at the counter, refilling his mug with whisky. “Preaching to the choir, Miss Lopez; trust I brought up several other means of occupying a nooner, only to be stiffly reminded case work comes first.”

“Hey,” glared Maze, embellishing her point with the end of her blade, “that _case work_ is called Charlie.”

“Charlie!” Ella sat up the rest of the way. “Where do we start?”

“I was hoping you could tell us that,” Chloe just as pointedly ignored everyone else.

Her face fell, sinking with the rest of her uncertainties into the pit of her stomach. “I don’t really know more than what I told you. And that wasn’t even a lot.”

“You did say we could help,” she pressed gently. “So if there’s anything more about that…?”

“I know… it’s just Rae can be… evasive.”

Chloe turned towards Lucifer, who only shrugged. “She’s not wrong,” he ceded with a nod of the cup, although when that didn’t satisfy her he set down the mug with his best put-upon sigh. “Very well Detective; no guarantees this will work. It’s not like my siblings are just waiting around to be called upon, despite what a certain best-seller claims.” He clasped his hands together in the typical fashion nonetheless as he addressed the room at large. “Azrael. You can’t expect to stir the pot then stand by whilst it bubbles over; now would be about time to reveal yourself. To everyone,” he added decisively.

There was a shuffling of breeze as matter shifted, and what had been hidden was revealed with a gentle rustling of wings. Hers were cool grey, soft ombre sinking into inky black, with pale bands treading quietly across the wing tips, like a dove’s. The cloak settled around her shoulders as she folded the wings away, clasped at her neck with a silver fish pin and concealing the rest of her outfit beyond striped knee socks and Doc Martins.

Ella’s face lit even as Chloe stepped backwards and Maze drew her knives.

“Hey Lu, Ella, everybody,” Rae waggled her fingers.

“Where’s Charlie?” Maze’s teeth were bared just behind her blades.

“Sleeping!” she returned with a huff of annoyance. “Which I’d kind of like him to _keep_ doing, if you all don’t mind. Do you any of you have a clue what it takes to get a baby down for nap time? Huh? It’s not pretty, and I’ve _seen things,”_ she levelled at them.

Maze consider this, balancing what she knew about nap times against her desire for a cutting down an angel ( _any_ one would do really, and this one looked small). She lowered the knives, but didn’t put them away. Beside her, Chloe seemed to be talking mostly to herself, her hand resting on her stomach with distraction. “Of course there are invisible angels… there are probably angels who time travel, and transform pumpkins into carriages…”

Lucifer and Rae exchanged knowing glances. “Nuriel,” they nodded in agreement.

“Anyhow,” she pushed that particular thought back into a deep recess to be worried about later, like maybe when she had a toddler with superpowers, “Azrael,” she greeted formally, “thank you, so much, for what you’ve done for Charlie. Ella’s filled me in as best she could, but now I need know… why is this happening? And what can we do to fix it, and get Charlie back with his parents, permanently?”

“Whoa; right to the heavy questions,” her face pinched. “Neither you or Lucifer have _any_ chill.”

Lucifer began to protest but Chloe was already moving forward. “I know it probably seems strange to you, but us humans are kinda attached to our children, so it’s _really hard_ on us knowing they might be in danger. So yeah, not a lot chill left. And I’m sorry. I know it’s not your fault and I can’t thank you enough for what you did do, I’ve just got a lot on my plate right now and I _need to find out how to fix this.”_

The Angel of Death may have paled. Then Ella was beside them, sliding in like sunlight between the drapes. “What Chloe _means,_ is she’s really, really excited we’re all working together on this, like one big happy case-family!”

“I’m not happy,” Maze glowered. “Angels are what got us into this mess.”

Rae sighed. “Yeah, I know; Micheal has even less chill than any of you.”

“That’s hardly news,” Lucifer frowned at them, resting his fingers lightly on Chloe’s arm as he did. “It’s still a bit of a leap to move from getting one’s knickers in a twist over miss-filed paperwork to visiting earth and deciding to abduct a baby. Although I suppose he wasn’t the first to arrive at that designation, but in Remy’s defence, she’s always been the proactive go-getter sort.”

“Remy?” Chloe bridged quietly. “And she would be…?”

“Another sibling. I have many,” he explained, glancing towards Ella to gauge how well she was following along; for one who’d discovered irrefutable proof of the divine hours earlier she seemed to be dealing rather well. Perhaps there was relief in knowing, just as irrefutably, she wasn’t crazy. Not that he was sure why she would ever have believed something so absurd about herself, but humans and their muddled evaluations of self-worth were routinely baffling. “Remiel dropped by just before Charlie was born with the rather cesarean-inspired ambition of ‘liberating’ him to the Silver City or some other such nonsense; either way, Amenadiel dealt with it so it’s no matter for concern now.” He felt Chloe’s gaze even before he turned, the expression on her face a mask of another palpable and unspoken thing that hung in the air between them. His fingers may have tightened on her sleeve. _“Oh.”_

Ella’s eyes widened. “Wait, this is what happened last time, too?”

“No, that was demons,” Maze decided if this celestial planning session were left solely to angels no one would ever get to the point. She eyed Azrael mincingly. “What does Micheal want?”

The angel glanced at her sidelong, unmoved by her tone. “Knowing people’s desires isn’t my schtick, but if I had to guess, short answer: he really did feel Charlie was safer in Heaven, given everything that’s happening. Oh, and having the upper hand on Amenadiel was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. Micheal’s kind of a dick sometimes.”

“Revelation of the millennia,” she snorted. “Safe from what?”

Rae squirmed, but this also had nothing to do with the demon. “I don’t know if I’m really at liberty to say…”

“Liberate.”

“Well, it’s not like it’s a definitive thing so much as it’s being heavily inferred. Plus Phanuel hasn’t conclusively weighed in on it one way or another, but, you know how it is… once enough dominoes start lining up, it becomes way easier to knock them all down. Then people start to talk. So – fundamentally it’s an issue with the overarching structure of the continuum and the trajectory of the points within, more specifically, whether those points culminate or continue indefinitely, and if you had to draw conclusions–”

The flash of hell-steel interrupted as Maze hissed. “Your point, make it.”

“Right; short sentences for demons. My bad,” her accommodations were saccharine. “Single-word take: _Ragnarök.”_ And, when that produced absolutely no response, _“Armageddon?”_

“As in movies starring really hot dudes?” Ella supplied more boisterously than was necessary. “Because I could get behind that. Or in front. With popcorn. Just sayin,” her voice dwindled. Rae looked apologetic.

“Wait, you mean the _real_ one?” Maze stilled her karambit mid-twirl; when she was offered no rebuttal they sunk at her sides. The demon was silent while her eyes canvased the room as if appraising a new and intangible threat, until they landed on Lucifer, his focus still cornered elsewhere. “Hey,” she thumped him on the back. “Enough with the goo-goo eyes; you know anything about this?”

“Maze,” his eyes didn’t need hellfire to express his disapproval when he turned them on her. “Surely you see we have _bigger_ problems here…”

“Yuh-huh – like the small bird over there going on about the end of the world.”

“A few years off,” he exasperated. “Phany’s inability to discern anything in an efficient manner lends itself precisely to the kind of dubious dogma Micheal and the others thrive off of. The more pressing matter–”

“Is not my problem,” Maze snapped. “So unless what’s about to come out of your mouth has to do with you owning up over losing Lilith, how we’re gonna help Charlie and deal with a bunch of your stupid-ass siblings spun out about the possible end of the word, _then I don’t wanna hear it.”_

Lucifer beheld the demon with a brief look of astonishment until he realized he really didn’t care. “If you’ll excuse us,” he said, “speak amongst yourselves, and try not to break anything. Detective,” he sequestered her ahead of him with only limited protest towards the nearest door – Trixie’s room – and shut it behind them.

Maze made a face, and turned her attention back to Rae, the karambit sliding comfortably into a baited position.

Azrael’s expression was impassive. “You call that a knife?” she shuffled causally, her arm vanishing up to the elbow through an invisible pocket of temporal displacement. From that she withdrew an ornately carved khopesh that scintillated gold along the curved edge of the blade as she grinned. “This, is a knife.”

Maze’s expression flickered too quickly to be readable. Wordlessly she pocketed the karambits and reached behind the sofa to where a hooked cutlass had been causally stashed beneath the frame. She swung the weapon into her hands with an affirming motion. “That’s nice,” she said.

The other positively gleamed as she reached into the void again.

In Trixie’s room, Lucifer had his back against the door. Which he realized was ridiculous, because if this was his initiative to shield the Detective from the threat of angels then he was doing a horrible job from its inauguration. He stayed planted nonetheless. Chloe was observing him with her signature mix of tolerance and impatience perched in waiting across her face, indicating he should probably say something now before she did. “Right then. Does Amenadiel know?”

“Know what?” she rolled with it.

“You know…” he gestured vaguely.

“...about the baby?”

It could have been the lighting, but her eyes seemed to narrow at him. “Yes,” he downplayed whatever that was about, breezing forward while he had the momentum. “To be sure, I trust my brother with your life, but he’s like a pliable irish setter who’d lead thieves straight to the silverware… can’t keep a secret either, so if he knew, then it would be all over Heaven already. But as that’s not the case – presumed by the look of superb aggravation you’re giving me rather than any immediate or heightened concern – then we are dandy! Besides–” he stepped forward, considering her person with only a brief hesitation before leaning in to gather the loose robe from both sides and pulled tight– “at present, nobody’s going to question if you’re harbouring a fugitive or simply letting yourself go with that furtive lemon-bar addiction. All good.”

“You did _not_ just call me fat,” the voice against his ear was dangerous.

“No?” he pulled back with a mystified air.

But she only shook her head and sighed. “Are we in danger?”

“No,” his voice was firm, settling like the surface of the sea. He let the fabric of her robe fall loosely so that he held her gently between his hands instead. “What I said the other night, I meant, every word. My family would have to answer to me, and I would not let any of them harm you, nor the Urchin, nor this… celestial stowaway; you will never worry about your children while I am here.”

“Lucifer,” she smiled, but it was bitter-sweet, and he wanted more than ever to shield her from every bitterness the world had shown him. “I know. The thing is, you’re not always going to be here, there’s still Hell, and whatever’s going on in Heaven, which is why we need to fix–”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he affirmed.

Expressions blew across her face before she schooled them towards something more neutral. “But… what about Hell? And the demons?”

“As I told you, it’s not like I didn’t leave a body in charge. And ironically, my demons _aren't_ the ones aggravating the status quo at present.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she weighed the information, but guardedly.

“I wouldn’t lie.”

“I know. I still worry.”

“Don’t.”

It wasn’t a statement, but a request, softly laid and awaiting her receipt. She sighed, drawing against him as he hadn’t quite let go either. “You know it doesn’t work that way. I’m still going to worry, especially when it’s about the people I care about. My family. And you really can’t protect them from everything, all the time; that isn’t possible. You just… do what you can.”

“Detective, you forget with whom you’re speaking; wait 'til you see what I can do–”

“Mmm, I feel I’ve had quite an adequate sampler at this point.”

“Sampler? _Adequate?”_ he quirked his gaze downwards, as if undecided as to which word offended him more. “I assure you I am far above adequate in every way–”

“Oh, I know,” she smoothed his collar where it had become bent out of shape, her fingers grazing along his collar bone as she did and effectively swiping away every trace of his chagrin. They came to rest just above the button, where her chin tilted in consideration. “Remember, I was there.”

He dipped his head towards the hollow of skin the movement revealed, his grin pressed against her ear. “I see; came for the samples, did you? In that case, could I inquire what else you would like off the menu?”

The shiver was involuntary, spiralling down her core like a pulse. “I take it back. That line _totally_ works.”

His chuckle was sinfully deep and thrummed against her neck as he sunk down. And then came a crash from the living room.

Chloe pulled her head to the side, breath escaping in a deflated whoosh. “How much trouble can an unattended angel and demon get up to?”

“An angel, a demon, and Miss Lopez… surely they can occupy themselves–” he buried his face back into her neck to the ignore of the second crash cascading in diminishing order beyond the door.

“Still my house they’re breaking.”

“I’ll buy you a new house.”

“And we’re not… doing anything in Trixie’s room.”

“What? I’m sure the little miscreant would be in complete approbation!”

“Lucifer, what if your Mom and Dan had been in the penthouse and used _your_ bed for a lunchtime quickie?”

“…and now you’ve gone and ruined nooners for me,” he pulled himself up. “Yep, that’s killed off every bit of mood whatsoever; well played, Detective!” he caught her gaze and curtailed slightly, stepping back instead to reach towards the door. “Might go check on the three stooges…?”

The look was lingering, but she let him hold the door for her anyways.

In the centre of the living room the coffee table had been overturned where Maze and Rae stood amongst a mess of arms – short blades and and battle axes, dadao and yatagans, long-swords and pronged mace, littering the carpet in a smorgasbord of glittering steel; the demon stood with a six-foot spearhead brandished above her in countenance to the angel’s double-bladed scythe, and above them both the light fixture swung in rapid oscillations painting the scene in crazy, roving shadows.

Chloe whistled between her fingers very, very loudly. Everything stopped.

“This–” she indicated the armoury at their feet and then haphazardly to everything that was happening above. “This does not occur in the house. Maze, we talked. You know better. Azrael…”

“Ex-nay on the ords-sway?” she lowered the handle gently and managed to look completely sheepish even while holding a giant battle scythe. “Sorry about that, guess we geeked out a bit and got carried away.”

“One way of putting it,” Lucifer surveyed the grounds. “Couldn't you have come up with some other way of sorting your differences without turning the Detective’s living room into the Battle of Kalinga? And–” his foot ran aground against an impressively hooked kora, “–you will be stashing all this divine riff-raff away, posthaste; last thing we need is another blesséd weapon lying around to further disrupt the fabric of time and space. Less disruption in general would be ideal, considering we are both working towards the same goal.” His gaze slid to Maze, who had also lowered her pike but her demeanour remained unmoved. He turned back to his little sister with expectation.

“I like your hellebarde,” Azrael finally said quietly.

Maze sniffed. “I guess your khopesh is pretty okay, too.”

“Did you… want to touch it?” she offered sidelong.

The demon could only contain herself so long before resolve melted under the flush of anticipation. _“Can_ I?!”

As they converged to compare hand blades, Lucifer beheld the unfolding scene with his jaw set slightly ajar. If ever Heaven and Hell were to have an arms race, he had no doubt who’d be leading the offensive; he was only slightly more disturbed to find they were also getting along. “The world is not ready for this,” he shook his head decisively. “This cannot be what it come down to…”

“Hi,” said Ella, appearing from the kitchen and nearly startled him. She had a plastic bowl braced in her arms, like a lifeline. “I made popcorn. For the Armageddon.”

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

Chloe sat with her hands folded on her lap with all the decorum and authority her position provided.

Which was still questionable, given the contents of her living room.

The Devil perched on the arm of her couch, mostly, because this gave him clear access to the bowl of popcorn propped on Ella’s knees, where it was being shared with the Angel of Death, who’d flopped down into deep throw-cushions alongside. The Demon had declined the popcorn, scowling across the coffee table and carving into an apple with an oversized blade that looked somewhat… Egyptian, maybe? She had a feeling Trixie might know, and suddenly gained a deeper understanding about her daughter’s uncanny knowledge of world weaponry and how that had come into being.

But that was a concern for another day. Today was about Charlie. She drew their attention towards herself. “Tell me what I can do.”

“There isn’t anything you can do, directly,” Azrael wasn’t unsympathetic. For an angel of her experiences she looked remarkably unsuspecting sitting beside Ella, tossing the popcorn into her mouth and answering between the bites. “Charlie isn’t safe here until Michael agrees he’s safe, and he probably won’t, on principal.”

“But he’s safe while you have him,” she nodded in conclusion. Her chest squeezed for Linda and Amenadiel, and the 600-page manuscript the angel had been doting over these last few days. Her hands moved to clasp at her elbows as she sunk forward. “Can we let them know?”

“It’s just… Menny’s horrifically bad with secrets.”

“Linda’s not,” Maze swiped a chunk off her apple with the blade.

“And we’re sure Lilith won’t be a problem for Charlie either?” Chloe pressed them.

Maze’s eyes narrowed even more, but Rae only shrugged. “She’s clever, but she’s still human.”

“And Michael?” she propounded. “What about him?”

The pause percolated like kernels to the bottom of the popcorn where they were being avoided. “Things have gotten kinda wack back home,” her sight line grazed across the bowl to where her brother sat on the other side. “On the best of days, it’s hard to sway Michael from whatever position he’s fixed himself on, but he’d still listen if there was enough dissension.” (Lucifer snorted in the background, but didn’t return her gaze). “Now there’s real uncertainty. People are worried. And let’s face it, Michael’s been there, since… well, you know. So they’re looking to him, and that makes his position even more unchallengeable. ”

“So what you’re saying is, nothing ever changes; can’t say I’m surprised.”

She shook her head. “This is different, Lu.”

He sipped from his cup, because popcorn was drying and Azrael couldn’t expect anything of him while he tended to the urgency of his thirst. Her eyes remained, and he refused to meet them. “Matters in Heaven are of no concern of mine; that was made very clear some time ago.”

She nodded, pulling back to nestle against the cushions. She looked instead to the humans on either side and the demon sitting across from them. “Well, Michael could always get bored,” she offered, brightening. “He’s really big into ‘leading the charge’, but after all the pomp and circumstance is done, those boring, daily routines aren’t his priority. Which is why _I’m_ currently the one babysitting, on top of all my usual custodial duties. Typical Michael. Give it a few weeks – six months tops – and he’ll be completely bored with it. Probably.”

Chloe inhaled slowly, her fingers finding their way to her temples since her face was mostly in her hands by this point. “Well, I suppose it’s something; if everything else fails, we have that to look forward to.”

“Oh, totes!” she nodded cheerfully. “Providing the world doesn’t end in the meanwhile.”

“Besides that,” she agreed without looking up.

“Poppycock,” Lucifer muttered quietly into his whiskey.

“Okay,” the Detective straightened to address room before she lost them. “So here’s where we’re at: Azrael has Charlie until it’s safe to bring him to Linda and Amenadiel; Ella’s assisting Azrael as needed. In the meanwhile, the rest of us sit tight until a better solution presents itself.”

Maze finished her apple, grinding the core with her back molars. She flicked the stem between her middle digits and tabled the knife. Then she stood without ceremony for the door.

“Where are you going?” Chloe frowned.

“Drinks with a friend,” she didn’t clarify, and the door slammed shut behind her.

“Glad that’s settled,” Rae grabbed the last fistful of popcorn. “I have to move out, but, I really liked being a part of this! Ella’s always happy when she works cases with you, and I totally see now why Lucifer sticks around. It was _so awesome!_ Oh – do you mind if I use your kitchen?” she chucked a thumb in the direction as she rose. “Way easier making a bottle here than out in the ether.”

“Of course,” Chloe motioned, trying not to ponder the physics involved and wondered if those even existed in the ether. She glanced at Ella, who sat contemplating the now-empty bowl silently, as she had for most of the exchange. “Want me to make some more?” she queried lightly. “Or lunch, if you’re hungry?”

Ella shook her head. “Nah, I’m good. I gotta head back to the lab anyhow. There were a few things I left on the burner – metaphorically speaking, of course. I’m fine, really,” she insisted before she was asked the question. “It’s still a bit weird right now, not gonna lie, but… I don’t feel bad about it. I feel like… I need to get back to work, because it’s what I normally do. And, I _like_ what I do.”

Chloe smiled. “Yeah, me too. Just know I’m here, if you need to talk.”

She nodded, took the bowl in both hands and trailed into the kitchen after Azrael, leaving Lucifer and the Detective perched on opposite ends of the couch. His gaze remained downcast, the jaw tight and working the strain across his features. Then his phone beeped. He fished it from his suit pocket and read the message at a glance. The look changed, softening into bemusement; without a word he rose from his seat and strode across the room, pulling open the front door just as the small person bounded into view on the other side. She held up the blu-ray triumphantly.

 _“Lady and the Tramp,”_ he eyed the case dubiously. “A bit on the nose, don’t you think?”

Tixie lowered the movie with a huff. “Do you want those brownie points or not?”

He considered, and stepped aside as she passed.

“Trixie,” her mother was rising from the couch, concern edging her voice. “Are you okay? Where’s your dad–”

“In the car with Bear,” she spoke, assurance blithe. “He’s afraid Bear’s gonna eat it if we left him alone – which he would _never_ – but Dad gets weird sometimes and they’re still getting to know each other. That’s why I thought having dinner together would be good, just the two of them. I talked it over with Bear and he agreed. So we can have our movie night here, and Dad’ll pick me up when we’re done. That’s what we texted Lucifer, since you don’t have your phone back yet.”

Lucifer, who still had his phone in hand, offered up the offending message as proof.

“That… was very considerate of you,” Chloe began slowly, but her daughter hadn’t finished with the evening’s festivities, excitement ramping by the moment.

“Yeah! And we’re making dinner for _you,”_ she said with a flourish. “Just Lucifer and me!”

“Ohhh… Did Lucifer… _know?”_

Trixie’s eyes were on him, fingers tapping against the case and her gaze succinct.

The returned look was just as conductive. “You heard the Urchin.”

“And what will you be making?”

They spoke at once, the answer lost in dissonance until Trixie pushed forward. “Spaghetti.”

Chloe passed her gaze between them. “You sure you two can handle that?”

“We got this, Mom,” she beamed confidence. “You can take the rest of the afternoon off to relax.”

“Hmm,” she turned towards her partner. “Monkey, go put the movie in the living room. Then you might want to change that shirt if you’re going to be working with tomato sauce.” She reached his side as Trixie bounded away on a mission. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

He scoffed. “I wrangle demons; this, is child’s play.”

“Well, it’s cooking. With a child. There is really no ‘play’ allowed anywhere near that. Yes, Trixie knows her way around a kitchen – but no stove, not without supervision– never mind, I’ll be right here… Shoot, I have no idea what’s in the fridge, this week interrupted my usual shopping routine… what day is it anyway? There’s probably some leftovers from the 4th still in there, though you might want to sniff them first–”

“Detective, I seem to recall the purpose of dinner was so you could relax, as difficult as I know that is for you.”

“I can relax–”

“Says the person who’s spent more time working than sleeping in the past 24 hours, even though you have the day off, because even the LAPD agrees ‘abduction by crazy people’ deserves a sick day.”

She pursed, but blew the air out before she answered. “When was the last time you slept?”

“No, we are not comparing celestial metabolisms again! Nor am I the one currently growing a whole ’nother personage. You have my word, dinner will be fine, and if you still require something to fret about, there's always Daniel and his dinner prospects.”

The chuckle parted her lips, and she smiled, softly. “Maybe... I could sneak in a short nap,” the words fumbled, stifling the yawn that followed such an admittance. “If you’re really okay with this.”

For an answer he drew her close, but when he leaned in only murmured, “go and sleep, Detective. Dream of me.”

“You’d like that,” she grinned.

“You know I would.”

The kiss lasted until Trixie returned from her outfit change and declared she was finding a recipe on YouTube. “Not on my watch!” Lucifer visibly shuddered (and not from anything the Detective had done with her tongue) turning after the small person who darted past them into the living room, still giggling.

“I guess I’ll leave you two to it,” Chloe had a similar look on her face, which he didn’t get the opportunity to savour before he was distracted by activity in the kitchen, and by then the Detective had retreated up the stairs.

“We’re off,” Ella announced, pausing expectantly at the door. Rae was slipping the warm bottles into her satchel, along with a whole pineapple and several packets of instant popcorn, although these were probably not meant for the baby. The other shook her head. “You totally lifted those diapers, didn’t you?”

The angel shrugged. “It’s not like I carry cash. Also: no pockets.”

“You’re missing out,” she pushed open the door. “Don’t sweat it, I’ll grab some more before I head to the lab. We’ll work on pockets later.”

“This should assist with both,” the money clip was pressed into her palm as Lucifer joined them.

“Whoa, buddy – this is _a lot_ of diapers,” her thumb grazed quietly along the edge.

“Then get him a teddy bear, or one of those teething rattles shaped like keys; whatever is trending with that age group.”

Her gaze tipped upwards with the grin controlled but spreading. “I will do that.”

“Right; off you go,” he shooed, turning and pointing her down the walkway, “I require a word with my sister.” She tossed them a wave, tucking the clip into her pocket before heading down the stairs. Lucifer closed the door, his full attention settling on the woman who remained, the afternoon sun sinking between the buildings and bathing both in fickle light broken by leafy shadows. “I know what you’re doing,” he said without preamble.

“You do…?”

His eyes were hard, sharp pieces of obsidian he fixed on her. “Yes. Your talk of needing my help… that was never about Charlie, was it? You’re trying to draw me in – _manipulate_ me with concern about… issues above.”

Her face scrunched. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Don’t be smart with me, sister,” the words hissed with dangerous imputations. “Do you recall what happened? and all of you turned your back? Yes... so, if you want to know if I care that there’s ‘trouble in paradise’... I don’t. And I never will. So Heaven can sort its own mess out, or destroy itself trying. I say – it’s about bloody time.”

She gaped at him. Her eyes, dark like his and glittering like stars, beheld him in a circumfluous silence that swelled around them, spanning eons of collective nothingness that still hung over their heads. If there was something to be said, the time for the saying such things had long become tangled and obscure, the past a ribbon unravelling, cut loose and spinning away. It seemed impossible now to catch the end and spool it back again. Instead, she unfurled her wings, sweeping grey and soft as ash and was gone without a sound.

He stood in the restless silence while sunlight painted dapples through the leaves, unsympathetically bright and intrusive. His chest heaved and the knot there tightened even as he forced his breath. With a grimace he swept his hand over his face before he finally turned and re-entered the apartment, the change of light shuttering him within a capricious and incomplete darkness, settling somewhere between the endless grey.

He wasn’t sure how long he remained moored there until he sensed a presence at his side. “What is it, child?” he asked, his voice low.

She held the tablet forward, but her face was contemplative. “You can’t be that upset about Youtube.”

“Oh,” he shifted, drawing himself forward to snatch the tablet, a declaration of the authoritative and properly cultivated Devil that he was. “I have nothing against Youtube. In fact, I applaud a platform where people indulge in their desire to be the star of their own manifested delusions… but at this,” he scrolled through the collection of queued videos, “I draw the line.”

“Sometimes a cooking show is _just_ a cooking show.”

“Pffft; when you have experienced the work of a culinary artisan who by no account should be able to create such palatable fluency with mortal ingredients, you realize such proficiency may only be coaxed from the hands of the master, and passed on through their benevolence and extension of skill; there is no imitation, short-cut, or clickability.”

“Dad uses it for recipes all the time.”

“Are we building an argument for or against?”

“Can you even cook spaghetti?” she parked her hands on her hips.

He breathed. “Urchin. Kitchen. Now.”

The answering grin had him suspecting her motives as he reprised the apron from its hook, tossing the smaller one in her direction. She caught it deftly, sliding the loop over her head and wrapping the strings around her waist twice before she tied them. He began to wash his hands, only to find the agile imp squeezed along side and rolling up her sleeves with gusto. He passed her the soap. “We are really set on this spaghetti…?” he broached carefully.

“I’m open to other pasta,” she was lathering up to her elbows with far too many bubbles and he took a step back proactively. “Ravioli is good too. And mom likes alfredo.”

“Then let’s expand our horizons, shall we?” He held the towel until she was ready, then returned his sights to the fridge where the prospects hadn’t improved since breakfast. “And our ingredients list,” he pulled out his phone. _“Eataly_ still owes me a favour…”

“You’re the artisan,” she popped herself onto a stool and leaned nonchalantly against the counter. “But you know what else gets you a lot of brownie points? Actual brownies.”

“Exactly whose esteem am I trying to impress now?”

With her elbows on the counter top she cupped her chin between her hands and flashed her most magnetic smile.

It earned her a wry grin. “Props for burying the lede, but your delivery could use work; that, and having all the subtlety of a flamingo.”

“Says the person who wears suits to _everything.”_

“And I pull them off smashingly!”

“Whatever,” she tossed her chin, a look so familiar it grazed. “Mom and I still love you anyways.”

His finger on the contact list hitched mid-scroll, letting the names fly by without seeing them. It felt as if the knot in his chest had suddenly pulled tight and his heart tripped, sputtering in a careless sprawl of human foibles, but instead of stopping, beat on – an unabashed warmth expanding through every inch and imperfection as the knot released and fell completely away. He drew another breath. “I am correct to presume double-fudge for the brownies, no nuts?”

“No nuts,” she agreed emphatically.

“Well then, let’s find ourselves a recipe.”

Trixie reclaimed her tablet with a grin and opened the browser.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

Sleep was deep and full of wandering visions. She woke to the soft strain of music, rousing consciousness from the folds of dream where memories wrapped their downy limbs around her in a lush embrace. For a moment she wanted to lay there forever, snug within a feeling, memories lingering on her skin like gooseflesh even as the visions faded. The weeks and months preceding had allowed for joy so fleetingly, where warmth was an uneasy truce against expectation in a dance she’d come to know too well. But that was before. Chloe sifted through her thoughts, the events of the last few days painting a new reality that was perhaps stranger than fantasy. _And I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world,_ she smiled softly against the pillow.

It was another moment before she made to rise, contemplating the notes of savoury parsley and garlic as Sinatra crooned in the background. Was it worth putting on clothes? (At this point she was coming to believe pants were overrated, at least until she bought new ones). Perhaps she should freshen up. And once she got down there, borrow Lucifer’s phone so she could text Dan and see what exactly Trixie had said to him, if she had said anything further about the night before, because maybe it would be better off if she spent the night here, if she was still feeling anxious. Because she was probably feeling anxious. And Lucifer–

Her stomach growled, reminding her she was hungry with the blunt insistence that came with pregnancy and she clamped a hand on her midsection. “We’re going to eat, I promise.” She rolled over and threw her legs over the side of the bed, where her stomach further reminded that the alternative to hunger was nausea, and sometimes both, simultaneously. “You are really demanding for a half-ounce plum, you know; can’t imagine where you got that from…”

By the time she started down the stairs she was dressed, simple tights and a loose-knit sweater in subdued tones and which looked (she hoped) casual enough to negate the copious amount of consideration that had gone into the decision. The music shifted into the sultry beat of _Mambo Italiano_ while Trixie pranced by with cutlery for the table, returning to the kitchen just as Lucifer pulled the final pan from the stove. He handed her the napkins without missing a beat, glancing over his shoulder as she sashayed them back towards the dining area. “What are you doing now?” he puzzled, the tone indicating this was not the first query of the eve.

“Mambo-ing!” she returned.

“You are not.”

“Like you could do it better!”

“I assure you I can,” he wiped his hands on the apron, watching the foozled attempt spin by him again with conflict wrought. “Right, just – stop. Here,” he held out his hands and braced for contact, flinching smartly when she slammed them into his. “Now, watch my feet. Step forward, shift back, return; now back, shift forward, return. Now repeat… Not bad; not quite _Dancing With the Stars_ , but your footwork is shipshape.”

“That’s probably ‘cause Maze says fighting and dancing are a lot alike, except one has less flippin’ people.”

“That would likely depend on the type of dance.”

“Hi, Mom!” she spotted the watcher on the stairs as they turned. “We made spaghetti!”

 _“Carbonara,”_ he corrected, exasperation further piqued.

“And Lucifer taught me how to mambo!”

“I see,” she grinned back at them, “and I really wish I had my camera for that.”

“That there are some mercies–” the sentence was shortened to a hollow ‘oof’ as Trixie released his hands and barge through him to where the tablet lay charging on the counter.

She snatched it gleefully and turned on them. “Now you!”

“Oh no,” Chloe shook her head. “No, Monkey, we’re about to have dinner. Why don’t you–”

“–come from the other side, the lighting’s much better,” Lucifer gleamed with opportunity. He ignored the eye roll from his partner while the child toggled through the video modes, and extended his hand with chivalrous grace when she landed on the bottom step. “Detective.”

“I definitely _cannot_ mambo,” she took the hand anyway.

“And I wholeheartedly disagree,” his words were neat but the look he shared was salacious.

“Mmm,” she felt her cheeks colour shamelessly. “It’s been a while.”

“Nonsense,” he moved them gently with the music. “It’s just like riding a horse.”

“I think you mean bicycle,” Trixie interjected from behind the ipad.

“Probably depends on the horse,” she allowed a smile, drawing nearer to settle her hands on his person.

He followed the movement, enrapt, before his gaze returned upwards. “What horse?”

Chloe laughed, and he took the opportunity to turn them again, the music expanding into a bright latin beat. Beyond the foyer the dining table was set with tapered candle sticks she didn’t remember owning and crowned with a single, impossibly robust red rose. A basket held a wrapped bundle her noes told her was the garlic bread and a large bowl of leafy greens rested on standby. “You guys – this is amazing,” she fawned over their handiwork. “I may have to leave you to dinner more often.”

Her daughter nodded as if that were a given. “Next time we’re making Baked Alaska – it’s ice cream, that you bake, AND set on fire. It’s science,” she answered casually, her focus still with the screen and set on her directorial debut. “Now do a flip!”

“I really hope you mean a dip,” her mother supplicated gently. “Either way–” laughter enveloped them as the world gently shifted axis.

The Devil’s grin was unapologetic. “I might’ve implied the other had its place in _certain_ dances; although, I have been known to improvise on a mambo or two in my time.”

“It would make _top content,”_ Trixie reassured.

He held the position because he could. Also because she’d readjusted her hands to around his neck, not because she had to, and the fingers that dug against the edge of his hair left a suggestion of further pursuits. The grin deepened. “You heard the Spawn; far be it from me to disappoint a dance number.”

“Very funny both of you, but house rules stand that the living room is out-of-bounds for flipping of any kind,” (because, theirs was the kind of household that required those rules). He drew her in far closer than he needed to bring them upright, and she inclined her head, capturing his attention while her voice was low. “For the record, should this come up again for whatever reason,” (because, relationships with celestials were like the living room – you assumed everyone understood what a coffee table was for until you came home one day and found your roommate using it as a medieval torture rack during foreplay) “You know you can’t– …the _spawn_ is exactly the reason why we can’t.”

“And there goes Tuesday,” he respired, then took a step back as he felt her demeanour shift. “Joking, Detective! A little faith… You should know, I did extensive reading on the subject whilst you were asleep; consider me thoroughly versed on the the dangers of environmental carcinogens and soft cheese.”

“You did?” her expression puzzled him, guarding whatever emotion she’d bridled.

“I did,” he moved forward again, though his partner’s steps had slowed. “I can’t say that particular extracurricular came up in the readings, so duly noted, however there was plenty encouragement for a whole slew of other areobics–”

“Oh, I’m sure there were…”

“–as directed by your comfort and wellness experience. So there. I haven’t completely ignored that this is a significant alteration for you as well.” Somehow they had spun out of time with the music and he didn’t correct it, holding his pace with hers. “What matters to me– what has _always_ mattered to me, is that you are okay. Your well-being is my priority, and I am here to ensure that you have that, both you and spawn, one and two.”

This time when her eyes brightened he was sure the tears were the mirthful kind, because the smile she offered in return elated as much as grounded him. “Yeah, I know,” she shivered, but from warmth.

“Hold up,” Trixie let tablet slip out of frame as the pieces began slotting into place in real time. It was about that moment they also remembered she was there. “Are you… having a baby?!”

Chloe moved her lips to speak but words hadn’t arrived when the timer dinged.

“The oven!” Lucifer supplied punctiliously. “That’s the oven; who wants brownies?”

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾⋅

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Trixie stared evenly across the table.

On the other side Lucifer was sitting with his hands steepled in front of him, just like her, and they were both looking to Chloe for direction. Chloe had a plate in front of her, because it made no sense that the food should go cold, but her eyes were on her daughter.

“You’re absolutely _sure_ I won’t have to share my room? Because Jahlina shares her room and she says her little brother smells bad. I don’t have to have a brother, do I?”

“Absolutely! On the room sharing. You won’t,” she nodded emphatically between bites. “You won’t have to worry about anything like that, sweetheart. However, we don’t get to choose if you have a brother or a sister. That’s the surprise.”

“Besides that initial one,” Lucifer supplied, again, mostly to Chloe.

Trixie considered the information, reaching for her own plate to wind up another stab of noodles. She decided she liked carbonara, even if it didn’t have sauce, but still avoided the bits of meat on suspicion. “Addison makes $7 an hour babysitting. I am expecting at least comparable rates. And premiums for weekends and holidays.”

“Monetizing one’s siblings, good on you–”

“I’m so glad you want to help out,” her mother smiled, looking as though she was on the verge of tears again. “You’re a little young for babysitting just yet, but I’m sure an agreement can be reached once you do.” She glanced at Lucifer, the smile on her face growing when it met his.

Trixie watched them. “Then we get to have a wedding?”

They turned back to her. Her mother spoke first. “That… hasn’t been _at all_ sorted out. There is really _a lot_ of thought and consideration that goes into that… before something like that... because…” she reached for her drink, sparkling grape juice that had been selected by Trixie fortuitously, and swallowed most of it in one go.

“Oh, I get it,” her daughter gave a conspiratorial nod. “You _definitely_ want to avoid what happened last time. And this time, I get to choose my own dress.”

“For sure,” she yielded, not looking up from the glass. “Did you have any other questions?”

“Just one,” she finished another bite of pasta. “Was this even planned?”

Chloe splurted her drink. Which at least kept Lucifer from offering an immediate answer in his hurry to pass her napkins. “Trixie, you don’t ask _anyone_ a question like that!”

“Well, not unless you hold an unshakable confidence in your own origin story–”

“I was planned,” she scrunched her face at him. “Right, mom? Thomas in my class says _he_ was an accident and _he_ doesn’t believe in the moon landings; so I had to bop him one because he made fun of my science project about Mars.”

“If I were Thomas’ parents, frankly I wouldn’t be jumping to claim that responsibility either–”

“Nobody–” Chloe raised her voice to be heard. _“Nobody_ was an accident here. Got it? Good.” She let the silence settle as she smoothed the folds out of the napkin. Did she own cloth napkins? “Now, I know this is huge news and it’s going to take time to adjust. A lot of things will change, yeah… but, a lot is going to be the same, too. And however you feel about that right now is fine. But you know, I’m really excited and looking forward to all of us hanging out together. And you know how much I love you, and how proud I am of you – both of us are. If you need to talk about anything, you know you can. Or you can talk to your dad, if you prefer.”

“Dad knows too?” she sunk back into her seat as if a great opportunity had be stolen from her. “Why am I always the last to know the big things around here?”

Beside her mother, Lucifer was preening quietly, the sole recipient of some private joke. Chloe ignored him and leaned across the table with her own conspiratorial grin. “Only family knows, monkey, so you’d still be breaking the news to everyone else.”

She had to agree there was still plenty of opportunity there and returned to her dish, gobbling down the last few bites of noodles. “I’m done, can I be excused and call Ava?” the words came out mostly at once and in between bits of carbonara. She scooped her plates together for the dishwasher.

“Chew _and_ swallow,” was the dismissal. Chloe sighed, the candles flickering in the wake of the small hurricane before they narrowed again into slender columns. Her partner was still gloating to himself but turned when she caught his attention. “Maybe we should have planned that.”

He snatched up a slice of garlic bread with a shrug. “Why start now?”

She cast a glance towards his casual aloofness that rolled across the table like a brume, and settled her gaze on the spread between them with another sign. “The dinner really is wonderful, even if it didn’t go the way you planned either.”

“Yes. I suppose there was more snogging and less spanish inquisition when it played out in my head.”

The candles flickered again, feasting on air currents and curling upwards. They seemed to fan with tiny wings of sputtering flame, though this was only a trick of the eye. She closed hers, but the moment remained, an afterimage burned and dancing across her mind’s eye with mercurial light.

 _A lot of things will change._ Change was inevitable. It happened without regard, without recourse. Time pushed forward and few within the universe were immune, not even the immeasurable breadth of space that hung the sky above and stretched far below the fathomless depths of Hell. She had never expected it to, and knew better than to ask that it did. She didn’t even want that, not even in those first few days when grief bloomed in her chest and it felt like she might drown. It was something her father had said once, on a camping trip that rained until the roof leaked and floor of their tent snaked with rivers around their foam pads and soaked their gear. Her eight-year-old self was miserable, because the day before had been perfect, and she wished it lasted forever. Her father replied with sympathy and gently asked, _“but what if tomorrow is even better? Then you’d lose your shot at each and every one of those.”_ _“It could be worse!”_ she’d retorted smartly, confident in her tight worldview. _“Could be,”_ he agreed. _“Or it could be the best one yet. Don’t you want to find out?”_ One doesn’t become a homicide detective in a restless city without having some innate sense of optimism for the future, and a resilience to believe you can be part of the change.

 _A lot will stay the same, too._ Things changed, and yet there was familiarity in the flux; mountains decayed, but a stone plucked from the edge of a cliff is still rock. People changed, drifted in and out of other lives, families changed – but the binds that held them persisted over years, across cultures, passed on and drawn forward. The good came with the bad that way, too – old habits and old hurt, hard to break and slow to heal, scars, like doubt, linger long after the affliction fades. It was these doubts that threatened to fill the silence unless they themselves were subdued, the same silence she used as a wall when she retreated into busy work, keeping distance between herself and those problems she was afraid she couldn’t solve, just as he concealed his behind a glamour of dazzling grandiosity and sweetly laced enticements of humour and sex. And yet in spite of all that, here they remained, two people who founded a friendship on mutual respect and fascination, threaded with an unspoken need, and for all their casual differences, drawn implicitly into each other’s orbit.

She shut the box in her mind’s eye as deftly as Pandora, before doubt could loose itself and spoil the feast. She released her breath slowly, and found the candles still bright and gleaming. “Tomorrow will be better. It’s nachos night, which means it won’t be nearly as fancy as this, but does involve generous amounts of cheese.”

He looked up from his glass (which was not sparkling grape juice) and whatever trepidation had collected earlier seemed to loosen. He regarded her, his gaze softening as if it something within her person still surprised him when found it, without knowing what he was seeking. The smile was small, but warmed on him. “Even a bad day with you is something I wouldn't wish away for the world. Well, except perhaps for an actual _nice_ day. The kind without celestial interference and human audacity trying to take down– Detective?”

He’d turned in his chair when she moved, his face a question that only deepened when she landed in his lap, settling there like a cat who owned the place. She rested her wrists atop his shoulders so that her hands were free to play where they may. “I thought, since the spanish inquisition will be occupied for at least the next ten minutes sending out her proclamations, so, maybe snogging? If that was something you were still angling for.”

“Oh. Is _that_ what you thought?” he widened the look, failing in any way to hide the glee that met her expression. “Suggesting this perspicuous dinner had an _angle…”_

“So the brownie points… were all about the actual brownies.”

“And they’re delicious, you’re welcome!”

She kissed him, swallowing up the last of his chagrin, and he didn’t protest. He didn’t say anything until she eased away, a few quick kisses chased along the jawline in her retreat.

“I stand corrected; the brownies were a marvellous bit of stratagem. You should be rightly proud of that little rascallion. Did you know–”

“Lucifer. Shut up and kiss me.”

Lucifer did.

⋅☽⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☾

The door opened again as he poured the drinks, and by the time Chloe had shut and locked it he was waiting alongside with his glass and her cup of tea.

“Thank you,” she took the mug, breathing in the delicate florals. “You know, it’s probably because of the movie, but when I pictured the dog, I was thinking something short and scruffy-looking and like, 35lbs tops. That dog is bigger than Trixie. And Dan might be right about the coyote part. Seems nice though.”

“I’d expect no less,” Lucifer spoke with admiration, although she suspected it was directed more towards Dan’s misfortune than Trixie’s luck.

“Maybe it’ll be good for her to have that kind of companionship,” her voice was gently contemplative. “It’s tough being that age, even if you weren’t part of some divine comedy of errors; a pet can be a confidant, and an anchor, and teach responsibilities. She’s also decided she’d like to stay there the next few nights until Bear settles in.”

He caught the expression as she turned. “Truly, the dog that keeps on giving; we’ll be sure to get him a splendid new collar, like the chap in the movie was going on about.” He followed to the living room where she scooped the remote from table, freezing the procession of animated dogs that tumbled across the video’s menu screen and turned off the TV. She collapsed onto the couch with a sigh, bringing the mug near amidst a swirl of steam and sipped the amber liquid. He settled beside her without upsetting either of their drinks. “Still, am not sure what the takeaway from that movie was supposed to be, other than being far more selective of the hired help. The motivations were all over the place,” he set his glass on the table before sinking back against the cushions.

Chloe set her mug down, folding her knees beneath her. “For one, it’s an animated children’s movie. About talking dogs. I really don’t think you should worry about their motivations.”

“You’re probably right,” he allowed. “Although, I get the feeling I may have been properly bamboozled by that surreptitious scamp at least once this evening already.”

“It happens to the best of us,” she assuaged with quiet laughter.

“Indeed; kudos where they’re due.”

“You know,” she tilted the subject, “there’s an unspoken parenting rule about date night.” She waited until his attention was on her before she grinned. “You don’t talk about the kids on date night.”

“Oh. Really?” he took in the information point-blank. “You can do that?”

“You can try,” there was a fair bit of admission in her voice.

“Good to know. That should make certain ventures _much_ easier.”

“That’s kind of the idea.”

“I do like how you think.”

She hid the smile behind her mug as she stole another sip, a small gesture that brought him warmth, an uncustomary but seductively comfortable feeling that seemed uniquely tied to her. He settled again, his head lolling backwards with a deep exhalation. He let his eyes shutter, the temptation to give himself over to the hush skirting his peripherals. The room was still, the sounds commonplace, traffic from the street and the perennial noise of the city, dense, unobtrusive undertones that wove together and formed the city in his mind. These were the sounds of home – his home, here, in the city that harboured fallen angels and hopeless dreamers alike. He wondered briefly which one of those he most ascribed to.

Innumerable fathoms below Hell also drifted in and out of dreams, but these were restless beast that crouched in the grass and filled the darkness with their remonstrance. He left them there in the starless dark.

He didn’t bother looking up. The stars, he knew their faces without sighting them, and nothing sought him in the blue.

Here, suspended between both, it was still. _Safe._ That was what mattered.

There was movement beside him as she shifted again, leaning against an elbow so that it brought her snug alongside. Her hand brushed against his chest in causal circles drawn in distraction and flirting over the dark material. “You look exhausted,” she said gently.

“Nonsense. Just a touch knackered; nothing a hit of blow and hot shower wouldn’t fix.”

She considered, pressing her fingers to work small furrows over his shoulder where the muscles knotted, a tension held there despite her ministrations. A thought came, about the nature of wings, their tax on the anatomy, and where they went when tucked out sight. Instead she only said, “Well, I _do_ have a shower. It’s not fancy like yours with the multiple heads and climate control, but, there’s water. And it even stays hot for a while.”

“You are really selling this,” he made a sound, somewhere between a murmur and sigh, sinking deeper into the lulling sensation that worked to numb both his thoughts and aching bones.

“Well, I’m just saying. There’s options.”

“Like with towels?” because somewhere in the stupor of his mind he seemed to remember those were important.

“I have those too,” she nodded. “Alright. Come on, before you fall asleep on the couch.”

She was up and leading him before he could fully form a protest. “Who said anything thing about sleep…?” he frowned after her retreating form, for there it was, that nagging that had been so long a part of his internal dialogue he was unsure what boundaries divided them, and when it spoke, ensnared upon his thoughts, where the truth lay. For truth was imperfect, reflected everywhere and in everything, reminding him of all the things he shouldn’t want and couldn’t have.

He nearly collided with the cupboard door at the top of the stairs, moving aside to hold it while she rummaged within. “That should cover you,” the towels she handed him were large and fluffy, and he wondered briefly where he ranked in the linen hierarchy. “Everything else should be in there already... Ignore the rubber ducks. Trixie’s gotten crazy good at the bean bag toss and won them all at her school’s year-end bazaar… so, there’s a lot of ducks.”

“Ignore… ducks.”

“Uh-huh. Now, unless there’s something you’d like help with…?”

“Er, no… I’m sure I can handle it from here.”

She looked at him sidelong. “Really. Nothing?”

“...should I be concerned about the ducks?”

Now she turned, meeting his befuddlement with a probing look that roved over his features, trying for a read of him as he stood in front of her as still as stone. Whatever her own thoughts were she muted them, her focus forward. “This isn’t actually about ducks, is it? Come on, you know you can talk to me. If there’s something bothering you, or you’re not feeling–”

“I told you already – _all good._ So long as you’re okay. That hasn’t changed. Unless… you are still okay?” The exasperation that cut his tone was gone by the end of the sentence, replaced with a hesitate and uncertain entreat.

 _“Lucifer,”_ her head shook sideways as she collected her thoughts with her hands. There was a sigh as she leaned into the wall, arms crossing and head tilted to blink upwards. When she looked back, the expression, small but poignant was a smile. “Three months ago, this was almost too much to take in. Now, it’s just my new normal. I’m still here, and I’m fine…” Her breath drew slowly, grounding what she said next in conviction. “I told you back then that I’m not afraid any more. I’m still not afraid. Am I worried if everyone’s going to be okay? Yeah. But that’s why we’re here, to make sure they are. It’s what we do. You and I. And I wouldn’t change that. Or us. I love you,” she brightened with the words. “And I want to make sure you’re still okay, too, Mr. Lucifer I-don’t-have-a-halo-frickin’- _lightbringer_ Morningstar. So,” she said, brightening even further, “your shower. Is there anything else you need?”

He wanted to answer her question but wasn’t sure he trusted words just yet – not his power to speak them, but in their simple and staggering power to convey. Or maybe the words were incidental, and gained power through the one who gave them voice; that hers could loosen each tangled knot and thorn inside his chest, eradicate unbidden fears, offer sanctuary, and bring desire flush against his skin… he should well have been wary of what a touch would do, a kiss reveal, but fortunately, he had always been reckless. He gave her his hand instead, the warmth of her fingers wrapped in his and pulled tight against his chest.

She followed into his arms, sealing the need for words with a kiss, with other needful things: a touch here, a clasp there, a whisper slid between her lips and the answer forming wordlessly, eagerly, pressed between them both. And she remembered how easy it was to fall, wilful and headlong, when all she had to do was let go. And that he would catch her. That he always had when it mattered most

“Lucifer,” she breathed his name. And again, in defiance of every day in the months preceding when she could not. When the weight of what she bore grew rampant in silence, parting her thoughts like a gulf when no bridge stood between the worlds. Where she had drifted, untethered, until light returned and all the faceless worries could be seen for their foolishness and held no power here. Buttons came undone in her hands, undoing that last distance between them.

There was avidity in his response too, freely given to her intent. Within his grasp the world’s desires gleamed in abundance and yet he had never been privy to hers. And so it was with each shuttered look and stolen kiss he lay requests upon her skin, an admission of his own desire solicitously seeking hers.

His head bent to taste the last confession on her lips. Whispers fell like petals to the floor, and it took him a moment to grasp their meaning. He’d cupped her face then, to gaze upon the world held within those eyes, never failing surprise to find himself reflected there. Another simple truth. Then his hands moved to caress the familiar curves, along her neck, across her shoulders, down her sides, giving way beneath his fingers to a new and burgeoning roundness. He returned his gaze to find the question still on her face, the apprehensive knitting of her brows holding back her voice. He wanted to say something about the sky and how it shone when the first stars broke the darkness, about the Tree with blossoms paper-white that expounded every colour in the universe, and what Earth looked like, shining like a star and suspended between its branches in the sky. That _none of these_ were as beautiful as she stood before him, but for once, he couldn’t find the words. In the end he didn’t need to; there were a thousand ways to speak and love was a language of its own.

She smiled, swept into his embrace in a rush to place a kiss for each grievous day they’d spent apart, deepening into promises of thing to come. Only one more word was spoke, and his reply met hers halfway.

The shower happened much, much later.

The towels didn’t come up again that night.

They said nothing of the ducks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, Maze and Rae bonding over knives makes me happier than it probably should; hopefully that scene was worth the wait alone. Well, and the other ones. 
> 
> Also, don't catch covid, folks; zero stars, would not recommend u.u

**Author's Note:**

> Unabashedly un-beta'd, so all errors are on me!


End file.
